Best Flouting Poems
What Colour?
What colour are the oceans?
On warm summer days the oceans are crystalline blue, with bright streaks
Of ivory flouting on the crest of each wave just before it crashes down
Into total oblivion!
And what colour are the mountains that enkindle a dying sun?
The mountains are bright red, like a burning ember in the flame
Of fire off our multimillion mile star, as it slowly dips to rest
Till the morning!
Oh what colour is a new born child?
A child holds the beauty of youth in colours that span the years of its parents
Age, until the greying colour of passing seasons takes away the child in us all.
And what colour is the moon above us?
In late fall the moon flickers in shades like lucent charcoal as it slowly cools,
Then turns to black!
What colour are our hopes, what colour are our dreams?
Nevermore are our hopes mixed in the colour of our dreams, for in wake our
Soul equates the mind for a second then is gone.
And what colour stands for the worth of our lives?
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colors more radiant than our past
But still more mysterious than our future
By M. Norton
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colours more radiant then our past
But still more mysterious then our future
By M. Norton
Spiritual stagnation staggers senses
Insidious insanity of intermittent information
Gruesome gorging of gossips
Nauseating nature of narcissistic news
Oppression of other opinions
Flouting false faithfulness freely
Transparent traitors of truth
Hypocritical hype of haters
Evildoers exemplifying egregiousness
Transgressive territorial targets
Investigation into innocent itineraries
Mercilessly manipulating mainstream
Evidence effectively to expressively
Symbolize significant sign of the times
April 25, 2018
Sign of the Times Contest By John Hamilton
Third Place
In color flouting leaves, those leaves of times:
In dream as searching for hope another rhymes,
They met the grass, everywhere,the grass of hope;
But neither fate nor faith were set to moral slope.
The trembling leaves were free to kiss the wind
While the postmodern Columbus swore to find
The freedom`s borders with morning quivers,
With shinning heart like golden sharp scissors.
Like the pretzels with seeds of caraway
Passed our serenity and the emeralds` day,
Coiling itself up in the times`shell,
Calling recollections hidden in hell.
Noon of amber color, with old scissors
Is ready to cut the black stripes of tigers,
The moon, and the beard of the Prophet;
But monks cannot endure: Not even a poet.
Breaking away through the walls of reality
Going away from the cold rationality
Entering the realm on the heart`s side
Now was the time to open up your mind.
Was forest covered by guilty silence of mankind?
A rusty axe out of the east perturbed the mind:
If love was true, why liberty was not responsible
And it might mock the saints and hate was possible?
Truths hunt and think upon us. A larger reality:
Feelings were talking about love and brutality
Spirits, beasts, ghosts in a pale path of normality
Taking gentle face of the family, city, mentality;
For once you should not try to shirk the real facts:
The language, beliefs, culture, feelings and acts.
Life is our own real reward and punishment
Living in the woods, kind of self banishment…
So self-immersed with political clout
You've broken our trust as you strut and flout
Pork barrels take precedence
Over need and common sense
Treat us like subjects and we'll vote you out!
O sprey's circuitously scan the sandy bay
N esting gulls turn warily, then crouch to lay
T rippers emerge from beach holiday huts, some part clad
H orizon line now obscured by wind turbines, how sad
E agerly swim suited children race down to the sea
B ody oil glistens on sun bared backs along the quay
E asterly breezes caress the sand dunes pampas grass
A vid eyes search the rock pools as the fish species swim past
C aravanners fill the beach with sun breaks and towels
H olidaymakers' cars double park, flouting rules
Oh! How I long for that
one sweet moment of
loneliness, when the human race
decides to piss off, leaving me
to wallow in my own
company.
The pressurized world,
the ceremonious
corporate reciprocates, one’s
space to foul, with flouting
flagrant farts! Creating
thunderous turmoil, a
chaotic state of mind,
a wind of prevalent
change.
Innocent minds, virgin thoughts
collective breeding grounds,
stage upon stage, the master’s philosophy to
be acted out. His! To
nurture, to alter, personalities
to change, ideals to strive
for, directions to enforce.
The
new breed, created from
the production line of
progression, cantankerous wankers! Mountaineers
all. “No strings” Yet each one
a “Puppet” To the regime, each
one skilled in the art of
deceit, degrees in codhology, all
willing to sell their soul
to the executive.
“Interaction Management” The
suave enemy. “Believe it”
At one’s peril,
“The flattery
the empathy
the confidence”
Seek out! The expression
behind the expression.
If not! “One will love it”
Hook line and sinker, caught
in a web of verbal
trash, dressed up in treachery.
Soon
the moralist to become ridiculed,
their dispute subjected
to “Reductio ad absurdum” Yet
their accuser dances
amongst the clouds, eyes forever
searching skywards, the social
divorce permanent.
Who!
Are these arrogant ones,
those reared in such cynical ways,
their curriculum brimming with
intellect, yet without
the power to reason,
only the power to perform!
The forked tongue, the worthless hand shake
at Christmas time, the insincere
parody that floats across the
pay table.
Many years
I have given myself
to this crap, and here are
these bastards, having us
all feel grateful, for the
“Privilege
of
employment.”
© Harry J Horsman 1993
Spread on the vast farm,dew-drenched grasses as soft as silk,
Embrace the bright sun rays, and glow like some gleaming milk!
On the frolic colourful flowers, fickle the frivolous butterflies!
Mingles with the brown land, on the horizon, the endless sky!
With red-golden flaunting fruits, smother the mild mango trees,
While sitting on the leaves less peepal, sing the nightingale in spree!
Sweet soft blackberries blossom, blushing berries turn reddish,
Bloom melon, lemon, turnip, tomato, cabbage and white radish!
Wild flouting flock of fauna, play in the lap of laughing land,
The fat and gluttonous watermelon, grow well in the Ganga sand!
Cranes standing in still water, like a hermit thinking deep,
Swans are floating in water, owls are snoring in the sleep!
The children and farmers in the farm , working hard for their dreams,
The autumn withered lazy woods , waiting for the spring it seem !
Like a open carton of pearls , filled with all the beauty we can find ,
Village with nature , sweet , serene , is enchanting all human mind !
This is only the translation with some additions and changes, please read original poem Gram Shree by Sumitra Nandan Pant which is very very captivating poem , it's in 9 th class NCERT Book.
Toddlers teeter on the hollowed trunks and sport with juts of ice.
'Cross boulder bridges, flouting rapids, hop the agile blond and beige.
Yet in close chase, for or found, and on uneven ground, they’ll slip.
Clots in black and rose bespatter tans and whites.
Though clouds may cope the flights of cubs and fawns in torrents spirit laden,
steps shan’t be erased, where o’er plight’s edge they’re furrowed.
Would least the cliff lay lad to nestle upon drifts of pedals fallow
or as cradled by green swaths of summer blades.
For if to hope, the whelp when bade need but renounce a bed of clover,
might a father’s beckon stern retrieve the slain.
But scolds can echo no reprieve where o’er forever’s precipice
the yearling brown has left the seasons scarlet stained.
Though with the day’s advance, a glance would chance the fact all tracks do fade,
in the havens gray, in every trace, we dawdle.
It’s the cleft that blanched a mother’s face. Bereft, her tears are gained.
And blood ‘s been shed till never, like the rains.
Along the roads of grassy fields
where thousands of sheep flit from
Astray from the flock, flouting,
fleeing with fear
blindly following.
Driven through the streets of London
at the Barnet fair to the farmers there.
But the way, takes an insalubrious plot.
Sheer confusion along the countryside
sets in on the herd, then stray
when eddying rapids currented by the tide
and force of the streams give, taken
to an endless frequent float
for great distances steered, stirred
while the timorous turn 'round.
An endeavor to gain the place they set off
As along ancient grassy drove road lies,
weary shepherd and his sheepdog.
Drovers, some on the hoof
The sheep shall stray
back to stay presently in Eden's garden
Jade-green grassy hills of harvest gold,
and cerulean skies.
What Colour?
What colour are the oceans?
On warm summer days the oceans are crystalline blue, with bright streaks
Of ivory flouting on the crest of each wave just before it crashes down
Into total oblivion!
And what colour are the mountains that enkindle a dying sun?
The mountains are bright red, like a burning ember in the flame
Of fire off our multimillion mile star, as it slowly dips to rest
Till the morning!
Oh what colour is a new born child?
A child holds the beauty of youth in colours that span the years of its parents
Age, until the greying colour of passing seasons takes away the child in us all.
And what colour is the moon above us?
In late fall the moon flickers in shades like lucent charcoal as it slowly cools,
Then turns to black!
What colour are our hopes, what colour are our dreams?
Nevermore are our hopes mixed in the colour of our dreams, for in wake our
Soul equates the mind for a second then is gone.
And what colour stands for the worth of our lives?
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colours more radiant then our past
But still more mysterious then our future
By M. Norton
Don’t riddle me a mistake
Every tomorrow brings a new day.
Every new day is a continuation of the previous day.
Every previous day’s problems follow on into the next day
so the past should fail, to be forgotten
So, it is history?
but how can I explain, the past is the present.
The past was yesterday
but yesterday begins today.
Yesterday is your life today
Forgetting the past is like flouting the present
if you let it go, you lose yourself.
I will not let it go.
I won’t be forgotten.
I will not fade nor blend with the shadows.
I won’t silence myself, as the wind does in summer.
I deserve to be more than the present.
I deserve to be remembered today
for what I was yesterday
So don’t riddle me a mistake
I didn’t not force myself on you.
I am grateful though
because of you,
yesterday I breathed
today I am alive
So don’t riddle me a mistake!
We should see no evil the teachers taught us.
School faculty had butter, we margarine,
They relished the toasted white, while we ate brown bread;
Always on the wrong we suffered they were Right.
Ringing roll call bells we heard in the line up
House master to walk a sharp eyed inspection;
Pulling out those loose tie or unpolished shoes:
He walks flouting slippers and open collars.
Student molested toes the line in discipline,
Never speaking to the professor he knew,
Touching him with unique silence, tongue in cheek
Flattering his smile to boost the boss’s ego:
Forget truth, to remember established wrong,
And delight in this saga's pathetic ways.
Prompt:-
“It is dangerous to be right in matters on which the established authorities are wrong”
Voltaire quote
According to the dictates of Suzy Berlinsky,
a Hello Poetry sibilant chargé d'affaires
female equivalent, sans Grand Poobah
aye surmise she deems my preference
favoring lower case, especially taking
a figurative page from thee poetic play
book of e.e. cummings, (not to be con-
fused with Elijah E. Cummings, thee
American, and United States Democrat
representing Maryland's majority dark
skinned precinct of Baltimore County
seventh congressional district), whose
shadow of fame diminished, but flagrant
flapping flaunting Puritanical principles
tantamount to in traducing taboos up-
ending ala revolutionary lampooning
his trademark imprimatur guilt frisson
faculty of his to delve into controversial
material blatantly candidly devotedly ex
pressing thoughts, sentiments, and re-
flexes skewed asper an irreverent teas-
zing exuberance flouting orthodox re-
finery by playfully making mince meat
of long cherished, fixed, and insulated
mores as shock treatment technique to
exhibit parsimonious, opprobrious, and
noxious malice lobbing fondness for
writing without heeding thy fondness
NOT CAPITALIZING the first person
singular pronoun, i, an upside down
exclamation point, whose dot eye see
clearly despite the fierce maelstrom!
I hear the squelch of sorrow
nearing me once again,
pummels with the purple pulsation,
with the unheard echo in the frail veins.
The miasma of sadness envelopes
the mind-soul-body trinity,
the sigh of its drifting desolation
trails the dissenting resonance of remoteness.
In the domain of the dwindling day,
at the edge of the tarnished twilight,
the halcyon horizon melts away
in the misty air of decomposed delight.
As the sunset spectrum spins exhilaration
with the surreal astral strands,
the fleet of cloud in sensual sapphire sky
turns into floating violin in enthralled psyche.
After scanning the seamless sky
it’s time for my marooned bird to return
to the nest, riding deserted
the sanguine radiant rays it fails to feel.
Its outspread worn out wings glide
with the beat of my heart
over the snapped sonorous strings
of the dusty violin, playing discordant tune.
At the fringe of the derelict dusk,
after the flight through the day,
the scarlet sun sips the sea
before slipping away to obscurity,
dissolves its floating colors
in the water that tosses weary
in the tides of torment tear,
carrying the gloomy horizon to the shore.
In the passion sea of my yearning,
rapture waves shine like your pearly smile.
With mesmeric moonbeam lattice of charm,
its sequins splash on my essence.
In scintillating stream of zooming zephyr,
as you drift away unconcerned, past me,
blow a devastating storm of apathy,
my feelings scatter on the debris of ecstasy.
Suffused with the diffused drizzle
of my fading love at somber sunset,
you disappear beyond the gloomy garden,
once a desire den of my delight.
Your flouting footsteps trample
my emotive flower as you depart.
Its crumbled petals of pain make a wreath
for the wreckage of my broken heart.
ABHIMANYU IN CHAKRAVYUH
A serene tranquil aura of Subhadra’s son,
Possessing Arjuna’s valour and virtues abound;
Lord Krishna’s blessings armouring shielding him,
Calm placid lionhearted Abhimanyu!
Adept in warfare second to none,
Dauntless unflinching a paramount warrior;
Acclaimed applauded for his heroic deeds,
A defender of harmony, an apostle of peace!
Righteous conduct dignified persona,
Nobility of character elevated soul;
Unperturbed temperament reposed self,
In times of peace and war alike!
When confronting astute canny skilful adversary,
An enemy cleverly contriving a circular array, the Labyrinth;
Challenging the warrior fearless mettlesome,
Conspiring conjointly attacking concomitantly!
Fought like a lion in the unjust combat,
Charging pouncing showering arrows,
As a mountain stood the fighter till the end,
Concurrently striking in enclosed Chakravyuh!
The rival’s wrongful unfair acts exposed,
The pride, the arrogance shattered to the ground;
Jointly and severely seven fought one,
Flouting all rules of warfare at once!
High spirited Abhimanyu dashed them down,
Until to the point when he fell to the ground;
Arose then again as the tides rise high,
The broken wheel of the chariot his armour new!
Simultaneous hurling continued though,
Thence fell the lion roaring through;
Unmasking the humans’ immoral deeds,
Unveiling the pride-smitten arrogant beings!
Infringement of rules, inhuman conduct,
Brutal callous acts in the war;
Humbling humanity, heads shamefully hung,
Abhimanyu’s death, the downfall of humankind!