Best Gainsay Poems
~The Unexpected Gift~
There is no wrapping to tear away
No expectations of a gift
No birthday or anniversary today
Nothing expected to give a lift
No favours given and none asked
No unpleasant or overly tiring task
Nothing promised no debt to pay
There seems to be nothing to gainsay
No wrapping paper could bring such delight
Of a gift unexpected such as last night
To find someone has gifted to me
A membership for all to see
What a surprise - nay shock say I
When on PD’s blog my name I did spy
Something about me makes her speak she does say
Lifts my heart and spirits today
So thank you Pd for your unexpected gift
You obviously seem to get my drift
A membership from you to me
The only thing I can say is a big THANK YOU PD
© 20/06/2012 ~GG~
Founder's day
>A wind of gratitude is waving
>River of love is dancing, exhibiting wonderful styles whiles meandering
>Cloud of commemoration is drifting.
>All to say ‘’ayeekooo’’
>’’Osagyefo y3 ma W'amo’’..
>The throne is set, come and receive a panegyric
>You are a relic in our memories
>Posterity will always judge in your favor
>A man of wisdom and valor.
>You fought covertly or overtly for then progeny's emancipation
>That fight had made us a proud generation.
>Your were the torch of your mother,
>Your contemporaries can't gainsay.
>Your foresight laid the foundation for your mother's future.
> You started building the walls that projected your magical plan's picture.
>Your confidence was willing to leave no stone unturned
>Alas, nature sent you to the urn.
>Great dreams stuck in the skull
>If you can hear me, speak through a necromancer.
>We have missed the great voice of an orator.
>Even if your phonetics can’t do, let us feel through your kinesics
>We will love you until our hearts are no more
>Your mother will remember your sacrifice until she closes her memory's door.
>You indeed are a founder.
>We salute your charisma.
>Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, ‘’mo ne adwuma’’
>’’S3 3nn3 y3rehyir3n s3 nsroma’’
>’’3y3 wo mm)denb) ntiaaa.’’
>We respect today.
>Because it is your day.
>Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah
>’’Mo mo mo’’
>We salute.
No one seemed to take much note at first.
Old-timers on park benches passed a comment or two,
Somebody wrote a letter to the local rag,
but no one (who mattered, that is)
really seemed to mind.
Of course, you will always have
your bellyachers and woolly romantics
with nothing better to do than whine
about the way things are going, -
the loss of bird life, the silenced dawn chorus,
the vanishing English hedgerow,
you know the sort of thing.
The leaves began falling long before autumn.
"Funny," they said, "curious," "that's one for the book."
This was all very interesting for botanists,
environmentalists, chemists and the like.
Such words as "pollution," "soil erosion"
and "deprivation" were bandied about,
but no one was much the wiser though
the experts were agreed on one point.
"Photosynthesis provides the basis of all life."
This was interesting but nothing like
as interesting as the favourite for Ascot,
the football results, the Top of the Pops,
the late night thriller or the FT index.
All that changed.
Foresters and timber merchants became concerned
about the decaying cores of many trees.
The government became concerned, too,
(not so much about the fate of the trees as such
as about the effect the scarcity of wood
was having on the paper industry and inflation).
Then the doom-watchers caught the scent
and there was talk of an imminent ecological collapse,
but the man in the street still
passed it all off as the usual load of rot.
Then Kew Gardens, Epping Forest, Central Park,
the Everglades and the Bois de Boulogne
went the way of all wood.
A tramp, locally known as Nat the Nut,
was found in the village cemetery gibbering,
Before being bundled into an ambulance,
he was heard to say:
"With these very ears I heard 'em groan,
and this is what one of 'em said:
'Tonight we are dying, yew and I,
and the morrow sees us dead.'
And the willows wept in the valleys
and the trees on the hills pined away."
When the harvest failed,
the church bells tolled
for a woe no man could gainsay,
for none doubted then the trees were lost
or held it was only they.
BEWARE the BEAST! She bites! She Snores! She Snorkels!
No wonder Dragon likes her so much! She also Snarls, and Drools!
No one dares to wake her up… After they’ve done it, a time or two.
Yes! This is our leader, the one, Dragon thinks is so wonderfully Cool!
The beast is totally in control… Even Grandpa Troll gives her, her due.
She forms our thoughts and reshapes minds, with only, her look so true.
No one would ever gainsay her word, or trouble, it would definitely brew!
Now who is this one… who is sound of limb… and even fiercer of mind?
No! I dare not tell you! She’s hears everything, reacting quickly, all the time!
It all started when she bought a ‘self-help’ book on the new Internet line.
Followed by ‘Be The Assertive One’, and then ‘How to be in Control!’
That was when we all backed off, and where she definitely, lost control!
When she read an ‘Efficiency Training Book’, our hopes were truly gone.
We want our old MOM BACK! We should never have complained, on and on!
Honest we’ll NEVER do it AGAIN! We’ll be ANGELS… truly, one and all!
Yes! We’ll even stop to make our beds. And then we’ll be no trouble, at all!
We missed the days of Fun! Fun! Fun! So we quickly devised a great plan!
We brought her a cup of her favorite tea, with a chill pill dissolved inside.
Then we tucked her, gently, onto the couch, as she was about to drift off.
She awoke with the TV remote, in her hand. Her favorite shows were on.
We confiscated those new books, and left, her old cookbooks in their wake.
It might take a day or two… but we see signs that a full recovery she will make.
Lets just give her an itty bitty little break… Then get ready her running shoes.
She Snarls, and Snorkels, Snores, and Drools. She’s back! Mom! We love you!
Eulogy For An Unsung Hero ©
The late John Sidney McCain III,
now flies with Arrow Smith,
Babbitt, and Jefferson Airplane
five days shy of his
eighty second birthday,
taken down (to his demise)
courtesy, sans metastatic cancer of brain
defeated by an aggressive
deadly linkedin chain,
yet still earns kudos
no matter 1967 USS Forrestal fire
(during the Vietnam War)
his life source did
nearly completely drain
though purposeless prevails,
asper absolute zero gainsay,
no rhyme nor reason
can even feebly explain,
when approximately
a quarter million young men
(oh...yes, perhaps
some women too) perished
at sea, on land, or floatplain
sacrificed their lives for nought,
zip, nada nothing to GAIN
(my bald, billed,
and bold assertion,
a mere minor tirade
subpar class 1 hurricane
non-veteran civilian personnel),
nonetheless afflictions by said
United States veteran and,
subsequent Senator from Arizona,
what posthumous praise me expresses
merely mildly silly putty,
piddly, paltry and inane
as anti septic (of danger)
such as books
for children star
ring Dick and Jane
does disservice, injustice offends,
(perhaps descriptive word choices
might smack of hyperbole,
my humble apology if in apropos),
thus a more app pealing appellation,
could be Citizen Kane,
whose corporeal being got lain
to rest on a grassy hill
adjacent to the main
starting point of his storied existence,
the burial plot (right next to
lifelong friend Chuck Larson)
amidst a plain
extolling grandeur and solemnity,
where grim reaper didst slain
of Arlington National
Cemetery in Virginia terrain
concluding mine poetic epistle,
that didst wax and wane.
Love, calumniousness and my calmness.
Caste, colour and religion, castrating me pish.
Pitiable placability, pendiculation and scurrllity,
A scullion leads ashtray, arrogant, juggling kiss.
In funds gainsay gad about, execute fustigation,
Fulsome excelration and Ju Ju, jest misconceived stress.
A gawk but gallant frizzled fuddle and frolic,
Exert pickings pick some picaroon phrenetic bliss.
A cry diverted diversion, a dither distrusted hope,
A burning light touched a grand heart becomes bless.
"Fly me high through the starry skies
Maybe to an astral plane
Cross the highways of fantasy
Help me to forget today's pain"- A stanza from Gary Wright's "Dream Weaver"
In dreams that drift as surely as the sand
along the banks of oceans in my mind,
he wanders in, and with his skillful hand,
adds shape and hue to scenes yet undefined.
I never know what feelings he’ll invoke,
what things I’ll touch or taste or hear or see.
He makes – with every interlacing stroke
of brilliant yarns – enthralling imagery!
He weaves me in with people or alone -
in states of bliss. . . at times in peril’s way!
Another twist . . . I wear a face unknown
or soar! The unexplained I can’t gainsay.
Awake, I little know of fancy’s flight,
for Weaver thrives in shadows of the night.
For Brian Strand's 'ALL YOURS (May 16)' Poetry Contest
May 2, 2021
For Line Gauthier's What's In A Title In 14-20 Lines Poetry Contest
A wind of gratitude is waving
River of love is dancing, exhibiting wonderful styles whiles meandering
Cloud of commemoration is drifting.
All to say ‘’ayeekooo’’’’Osagyefo y3 ma W'amo’’..
The throne is set, come and receive a panegyric
You are a relic in our memories
Posterity will always judge in your favor
A man of wisdom and valor.
You fought covertly or overtly for then progeny's emancipation
That fight had made us a proud generation.
Your were the torch of your mother,
Your contemporaries can't gainsay.
Your foresight laid the foundation for your mother's future.
You started building the walls that projected your magical plan's picture.
Your confidence was willing to leave no stone unturned
Alas, nature sent you to the urn.
Great dreams stuck in the skull
If you can hear me, speak through a necromancer.
We have missed the great voice of an orator.
Even if your phonetics can’t do, let us feel through your kinesics
We will love you until our hearts are no more
Your mother will remember your sacrifice until she closes her memory's door.
You indeed are a founder.
We salute your charisma.
Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, ‘’mo ne adwuma’’
’’S3 3nn3 y3rehyir3n s3 nsroma’’
’’3y3 wo mm)denb) ntiaaa.’’
We respect today.
Because it is your day.
Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah
’Mo mo mo’’
We salute.
The hunger
Horrendous afternoon, breeze chose to be still
Dilapidated hut in the midst of the hill
Frail and fragile sat she at the threshold
Crying baby in lap about an year old
Both wrapped in rags covering their bony frame
Emaciated and starved, whose game to blame?
Small patch of green on which they grew little grain
Fell prey to pests and the failed rain
Her Man had left with a vow to return with food
Three months had elapsed, broken vow for no good
All these days, she with some hope, had waited
With dried tubers and kernels hunger demon satiated
Followed long week leaving empty- stomach, barren- hearth
Devastated she sobbed, Oh! Father, why such a birth?
Famished sans energy whenever she slipped into sleep
Ort and broken bread-crumbs in her dream creep
Rumbled their stomachs like the mighty thunder
Nightmare all day showed this hunger monster......
His cruel voice, she heard him say, hey lady dare not gainsay
You are poverty-struck, helpless, I have shut all your way
He boasted, I am mightier than the prayers and stronger than all power
You better let me feast as I pounce on you both to devour
Imperious demon, I know for sure you won’t spare us, she said
I have failed as a mother to feed my child, I deserve to be dead
Weepy she said, I quit, I feel lost, I feel abandoned, I surrender
And prayed that this world be delivered from the pangs of hunger
Slowly, her child’s cry was embracing deafening silence
Tears kept flowing down, she was feeling fragile and lifeless
All of a sudden, she could see someone walk towards her
Her Man! Timely! words kept! Came like a saviour
Saved his lady and child from the draconian hunger!
©Copyright Anulaxmi Nayak, 2016
There's A Pedophile In The House...
(ah...ah...ah...ham eye white...???)
OMG,... and he looks...
SAY WHAT??? just like me???,...
absolutely NO WAY!!!,
would this sensitive,
respectful, "FAKE" veejay
quiet-natured, mindful,
loving, kind, underplay
justice invoking, hew today
mainly, gentle, friendly, "I say"
enlightened, democratic chap redisplay
any besotted abominable,
blamable, culpable, quay
esse chin hubble
despicable, execrable prey
dot door formidable,
inhospitable...overplay
ying faux indulgent,
NOR be mistaken
to assay, betray, convey,
display, expressway more fay
writ his'm to
gainsay hearsay, inveigh
jaw dropping "FAKE"
yuge weak accusations
(by a long shot), sans
basket of conspiring deplorables
attempting to assassinate
bigly believe me tubby "stupid"
winning loser to berate,
who doth unequivocally create
mine substantial vocabulary rumor,
versus 4th grade reading level
trumpeting librettist - thee great
test Don Quixote
(as falsely sung with hate
full sotto voce), and ramped up
as ill suited mate
a minus [sic] zero moron,
which doth hapt
tubby incredibly tremendous
disservice to bona fide classy idiots
with a lot of money
(like the millions and billions
of my golfing confrères)
given bent iron golf clubs
used by crooked Hillary,
when former Secretary of State
ideal for Putin on the Ritz
by far less exciting, with
Bill Clinton's flirtatious flits
trained pudenda purse
sin null property
of intern (NO FALLACY)
topped as southern delicacy dish
consume mated with buttered grits
pricked prurient peccadilloes licks
suddenly recalling seminal kicks
starting, how with Little Rock kits
he received assistance,
sans starts and fits,
eventually then nubile
ingenue Monica Lewinsky
called time out, cuz at her wits
end once assisting helping
express his "naughty bits,"
when done completing
cum mincecd secrete mission
blue dress draped
expensively furred
(i.e. tricked out) in her
"FAKE" minx hiding
sable animal spirits,
when animal rights
activists vehemently protested
out-coming result
slapping former president
with a PETA file.
Mayday in England today is 'MAYDAY'
a plea to ignore Merrie England and
the rights of all workers from HMQ
to the like of yours truly, as no day
is allowed for merry making as anti-
trade unionists unite with Neo-Cons,
twice killjoys contemptuous of Albion
of old, despising our rights and the
responsibilities of today, disliking days
of rest, of recreation, as it loses money
for them who mistakenly think the nation.
The fault is Christianity with their blessed
holy days that worshipped not myriad
masters but a foreigner who captured
our hearts and minds, one Jesus Christ
so divine, whose message still is, will not
go away despite those who gainsay his
message of hope in these so difficult
times in this our Merrie England on this
our Mayday in a Spring of showers, sunshine and flowers.
To the Throne of Happiness
I bow down to your Court
Your Grace
Surely you do not bear false witness to my accounts
My Lord
Ever have I induced to stay in your good graces
For I sweareth my utmost obedience to your whims
Your Majesty
Never shall I gainsay
Your Highness
And shall labor tirelessly
In defense of your Kingdom
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXXIII
IF you pull a long non-plussed face
Astrophysicists declare Science no Absolute Truths underlay
Big-Crunch might on Big-Bang back bounce about face
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
If you pull a long heretical face
Opt for accidentally ordered Life as did Hawking portray
Almighty be a Barrau's " tout comme " Lord of Multiverse
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
If you pull a long Question-Marked face
Two brothers in '43 jumped into the Future to aver
Great Lakes all make for one big sea surface
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
If you pull a long besotted face
Long walls of Black Holes tugging pulling us in disarray
Andromeda throttle surge through our Milky Way interlace
Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay
So if you must pull a long-lost inane face
Light-propelled ET-ships visit us NASA-men say
If you can the future tell e'en of one of the human race
Then nothing anyone can ever do the FUTURE gainsay
© T. Wignesan - Paris, February 14, 2019
Burden
Would anyone notice if i were gone,
How long before anyone would come,
What if i just slowly became withdrawn,
This game of chess i am simply a pawn,
Is it easier for them to just ignore me,
Not acknowledge the issues they can see,
Sweep it under the carpet like its dust
Creating a complete persona of mistrust,
No matter how much i hola and scream,
Stop talking nonsense, going to the extreme,
Just pull yourself together they spit in disgust,
Then I am scolded and relentlessly schussed,
If only it were simple a switch to turn off,
To change how i feel, the thoughts to stop,
But the tough love hurts, it makes me kick off,
You say I’m ignorant just an adolescent strop,
But if they would take the time to listen,
The depth of the hurt isn’t easily hidden,
But its easier to just ignore my position,
Than acknowledge I’m an abomination,
How long will i be able to live this way,
Hiding my feelings, slowly fading away,
Trying my damnedest to not ruin there day,
I wish i wasn’t this way, pushing them away.
I don’t want to be the burden i have to be,
I wish they could see what asking does to me,
Grown and helpless without the help i need,
The embarrassment i feel but i have to concede,
Burdening their lives and stealing there time,
The curse of my paradox within my paradigm.
Of course they're courteous when i chastise
When the anger fades i of course alchemise
Aware of the burden i hinder their lives with,
My apologies soon come verbally forthwith,
Of course my actions cause them to be gainsay
All i hope and pray is that i can be saved one day.
Your angelic girlhood I ruined
And your upscale lifestyle you abandoned
To lull the little me while I groaned
And nourish the frail me as I matured
All because in me you hoped
But to take back you never lived
Because death was jealous
As I grew, hand in hand we walked to church
And visiting me in school to you was a cinch
Holidays we enjoyed building sandcastle at the beach
In my trespass you sat me down to teach
And for my better future I saw you vouch
But with it you never came in touch
Because death was jealous
The teenage me hated your fretfulness
I saw how you turned from beauty to ugliness
Grubby garments to you was tidiness
Barefooted you walked for my gladness
And bedraggled you looked to stop my ravenousness
But you lived not to see my happiness
Because death was jealous
Time came when you looked drowsy
When I asked you just turned easy
And the smile you gave me was cosy
Nah! Your smile was 'glossy'
I knew all these you tried out as whimsy
And may be, you wanted to leave me busy
Because death was jealous
You fought it but it did engulf
I watched and cried but under surprise I heard you chaff
In me was a confusing pang of joy and grief
You called me and gave me a tender kiss of relief
But when I raised my eyes you were bereft of life
My mourn couldn't cut your death off
Because death was jealous
Inking this last stanza is your boy of stray
Watching by your sepulchre with dismay
Remembering you as who became his mainstay
Wishing you stand and see how growth has come his way
And join him to celebrate his heyday
But all these wishes I know you must gainsay
Because death is jealous
NB: Happy Mother's Day in advance