Best Gangly Poems
" Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead."(Final lines from Walt Whitman's "O Captain My Captain")
My hero, oh how wonderful it would have been
to know you personally, to have spent time with you,
especially since I learned the way you were back then
both as a child, then as a man – so strong, so wise, so true!
The way you’ve been described, you had a gangly look -
not a handsome lad, but oh, you were so bright!
You were poor, but you did all you could just to find a book,
one you might savor late into the night.
I relate to how you had a very human side;
to the way you loved to play a prank or talk jokingly.
You never were unkind, and you had no worldly pride.
Preferring friends to chores, you also loved poetry!
What other man born in a cabin would rise up and accomplish so much?
Predestined for greatness, you had inside you the desire
to be better! When you realized that your country boy dialect was such
a hindrance, you taught yourself proper English to climb higher!
You were so very good, and your soul so godly old!
Once in New Orleans you witnessed the African's sad plight -
men and women chained like animals were being sold.
All you saw, felt and heard determined you'd fight for the right!
You had no religion, Honest Abe, but you looked to God!
Freeing slaves, you also would have fought for women’s freedom too.
A melancholy man at times, and maybe a bit odd,
“ O Captain, my Captain,” poets ever more will praise you.
For "To Honor My Hero" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Cloaked in beige, the park awaits new dusk-time
and there again owlets will start to chime,
through gentle rain, silence lays all around
while leaves russet glide unto Autumn’s ground
as maples hide their flesh in lean display
where twigs imbed the gangly stems like hay
to shred reams of petals, a torn bouquet.
Yet a wooden bench glows , scenting deep night
As love bestows an oath of fate’s delight;
in September’s innate grace, one kiss, two hops
enshrining wrapped embrace through clear dewdrops
while Fall’s bench cradles woven dreams with finesse,
a season of devotion, of stars that bless
this fond appeal to grasp eternity
into all cycle’s reels, evermore free.
................
Isaiah Zerbst’s Interlocking Rhyme Contest
By nette onclaud 1/25/2015
We are as similar as opposites can be
He's short and puny, I am gangly
He barks when he's happy, angry or sad
Yes, he's my dog and he makes me glad
He looks at me with reverent eyes
As I beg before the world, for a morsel of rice
He's happy even though, it's in a broken voice, I sing
To him I am nothing less than a King
I am dirty and unkempt, my clothes in tatters
When people turn away with disdain, my heart shatters
But he's blissfully unaware of my pathetic existence
To him I am more than just means of subsistence
He is my companion, my friend, my guide
Together we surf the storms and the rising tide
Of everyday life and together we survive
I think, it is for him that I stay alive
As the day winds down, our spoils we share
In a dirty corner of a dirty street; Our lair
We always eat together, never alone
He always gives me the meat, and gnaws on a bone
I talk to him about past's glory, and today's misery
The world laughs at me and calls me crazy
But he wags his tail as though understanding it all
And snuggles up to me and sleeps, when night falls
We wander through so many gardens,
doting robins, ignoring the crows.
Our personal oasis is an unfinished poem.
Plastic flowers may last longer, but their dead scent,
cannot compare to freesia and frangipani.
In fading grey sunset,
I crumble, crouching in musk air.
An arch frame with withered wood skin
and paint peeling in need of black dye,
but still Shalimar honeysuckle wraps like a quilt,
weaving around amber roses and velvet clematis.
Battle scarred thorns may stick and prick
these gangly timber legs, but each blemish
is soothed from butterflies floating from petal to petal.
In speeding winds I rock like an armchair,
helpless to save cherry blossoms falling,
creating a carpet of pink upon flakes of green.
Knotweeds sneak through a resurfaced pebble path,
but my dandelion heart seems fond of its purple tint.
Midnight raindrops sting like sake,
but I know dawn will bring bright blue skies.
Part 1
Onion
the delicacy of friendship
I found you in the flowers
Standing tall we become one
Looking down from gangly towers
Squash, you burn, you pillage, son.
Follow me you say in tongues
Thy shallow mind reveal me tell
Whisper lies clean load the guns
I feel the burn I rot in hell
Friend folly menacing the liar
I loathe this coffin how it leaks
Dear foe you raped me set on fire
The onion peal itself and weeps
Part 2
Traitor
dear monkey boy
Older eyes eat themselves,
glance and kill the other
Unified in the dance,
they steer the musty rudder.
Pained and sweeter deeper wells,
poised buckets drunk with water.
Singled out the one that dried,
handed weights to pull him under.
Wiser times capture the mind,
death justifies dishonor.
Knife slice neat through the devil's back,
who stares blank and milks the udder.
Part 3
Tempest
patron saint
Inside this box
Goodbye tempestuous fall
My puppet of steel coiled thread
Smashed buttons and twisted dread,
Alarm these doors, and
Escape this delusive bunker bed
Stamp the spiders
Thief, vulture of the deflection
The mocking patron of the sinners
Erase this affliction
Relating inward at the reflection
Rise you fool
Part 4
Phoenix
i love you
close the grip
cinched hematic grip
drenched, clawing
seeking the sheave
becoming the counterweight
i absorb, now
extracting the heat
rise like a phoenix
away to be gone to be free
fix me! i have fixed me
i am alive and i love you
Part 5
Aye, Damager
Abolish her state of disrepair
Scattered, spattered drippy thoughts
All around this box of soused leaves
Soak, ferment in the faith of our love
I can't fix this, you know
I loathe this misunderstanding
Of what I am speaking, projecting
To me, Aye Damager, to you
This devil in me
turned and twisted
A wrecked elevator in rejection
Years locked painfully aware
...
I listen to whimpers as duskfall nears
Finding a gangly waif rile from burnt skin;
My feet throttles along…his grin appears
With palm half-filled with dimes circling therein.
We talk warmly about this waif's despair
Of how prayers- heal abating such plight--
As he shares moist wheat-bread in hours that bear
A street child’s gentle spirit… on etch of night
Gazing far I see the boy wave his arm
As if to echo our words that console :
But from heart’s pit, he enkindles a charm
Restoring my sense of kindness… now whole.
*
3rd place
NA- Re-run 7 Contest of John Hamilton
Originally Written 6/9/2020
Judged 6/9/2020 Re-submitted 6/14/2020
Filled up with quips like a clanking balloon
blown up with coins not with air
Clittering, clatter on golden paved streets
his winsome words, plenty to share
Brilliant performance, he's taking his bow
on a bed of burnt peacock feathers
The skycap he wears filled with holes and with tears
has protected him well from the weather
The crowd gangly gathers with popcorn and fruit
with the wish and the will just to laugh
He juggles emotions with unending devotion
and doubles his jokes up by half
By the end of the night the whole room is alight
with marshmallow bellies still shaking
From the butt of all jokes to a friend of all folks
he's a super star right in the making...
At the VFW Post in Buang, Philippines they know Macarthur
Staggering off then
Swaggering back onto
These Philippines Islands and the
Wail of Hirohito
Drowning in chorus with the headsman’s gush of
Bloodstained tears
Upon the occasion
Of Bataan
Remembered.
Then in repose off old Mactan, there still smiles
Lapu Lapu in his
Billion particles
Drifting a sea to the
Portuguese dance of
Forgotten melodies while
Sugarcane hills
Rise in symphony for Jose Rizal and the
Three hundred and some odd year smoldering hue of
Senior Legazpi
Clutching the
Sunrise brilliant over
Manila
Gleaming.
For the sand still whispers to the
Prodigal bow of
Yamashita’s gunboat and the
Mindanao lair of two old samurai
Forever glistening in the jungle deep as
God’s Perfection crescendos to the
Indefatigable,
Invincible,
Infinitely indelible thought that
Battle,
Broken in all man can make,
Fades
Forever.
So when does Empire reek
It’s savage
On the splendid meek
In lands long gotten over
Purchased souls as the
Old boys
Master around
Three dollar specials and the
Endless clink of San Miguels join
Hank Williams in an aging jukebox
Carefully laid for one night,
When all the glories of a thousand years are
Wonderfully recited in an
Afternoon when a
Sunglass wearing,
Corn-cob pipe-smoking,
“Look at me now” presence of a
Gangly man
Dashed ashore in the
Post mortem swelter of a
Gallant soldier’s
Passing?
September 2009 Jeff Troyer
Well, he's goofy and gangly and thin up on top
And his real last name once began with a "Cop"
But I don't give a hoot about all of that
'Cause his box office draw's made his wallet grow fat.
If you listen quite closely to how this bloke talks
And you then watch how oddly he lists when he walks
Why, you'd think to yourself he'd be good as a clown
But I'm not trying here to just put the man down.
He's admitted that comics were where he got "Cage"
And his movies have made that fake name all the rage.
I've not kept a close count on how many there are,
But I tell you, my brothers, his fame extends far.
See, he's got this charisma that can't be denied
Plus a talent for acting that's as high as it's wide.
And he likes to take risks, gotta respect him for that,
Using methods that sometimes will end up falling flat.
One is called, NOUVEAU SHAMANIC, a phrase all his own,
And, then, WESTERN KABUKI, at which you might groan.
So his style's informed by the books that he reads
And he'll work it to death, or until it just bleeds.
It's a high wire act but with no safety net;
His unwavering panache makes me jealous, you bet.
Though I've tried my damned best to perform like this jock
On the set I'm as lame as a bump on a rock.
See, I've wanted to act since I was in 5th Grade
But allowed time to pass, maybe one whole decade
Before trodding the boards once again on the stage
So far back in the days when there was no Nick Cage.
I was hamming it up before Nick changed his name
Unsuccessfully striving to get in the game.
But to date Central Casting is as far as I've gone;
About all I've done there is to camp out on their lawn.
So I've hatched me a plan, will you please hear me out?
Take the shillings you're saving for Nick's latest flick
And, instead of enriching that overgrown lout
Send them here to yours truly, and best make it quick.
Bright yellow, green and blue
Are some colours to name a few.
And in their daub or scroll compete compare
To the carnival’s lively and zany air.
Powdered faces pale announce
A disregard (of) or speak to superficial self,
As buzzing rides revolve and reel,
While the spielers project and create (their feel)
To sweet smelling grass in the down-trodden field.
See the open mouthed and blank-eyes clowns,
With heads that left to right, will turn half round..
When pretty Katie passes by, (Vivacious child in navy dress,)
Honey skin and teeth chalk white, under coiffure'd tress.
Within her hand from Daddy's passed
A pink balloon all helium gassed'
while In the other hand is pressed
An icy pole half past its best.
A stray dog, with darting chocolate eyes
Espies the treat and makes a try,
Now poor Katie covers her face and cries,
As her air balloon makes its maiden ride
Over the hot dog stall it goes' as Katie screams on tippy toes
While Rover wolfs his stolen delight,
Oblivious to the toddler’s plight.
Up…up into the atmosphere; and then a sudden rush of air,
It to the big wheel sends, from there,
Where a wild-eyed lad with hair like straw
Fixes it fast; in a gangly paw,
But Daddy sees it all transpire, and scooping up Katie heads that way,
As Daddies will to save the day.
(ammended 19 04 2011) & removed 9 2nd 2018
© Joe Maverick 10-12-2010
Palindrome Quirks
Gateman, has thou seen my nametag
Tips he replied or else upon thy boot I shall spit
Evil doer! Can I not but endure this shame to live
Was it thy dog upon yonder grass I saw?
Rats! Rover has been seen by the clear night’s star
God! Why did I ever get a dog?
Swap thy canine for a bird with no paws
Reviled unto myself I must now deliver
Repaid in full by this dirty diaper
Lived, thou has not until thou hast smelled the devil
Pots with gangly growth have but stop
Spot has urinated upon its tops
Smart would it be for it to leave upon the trams
Warts his master has from the pissed on straw
Adaven, now a ghost town located in Nevada
Stressed were the miners when Millie severed no desserts
By Mark A. Goodson
Semordnilap Palindrome’s:
Gateman/nametag
Tips/spit
Evil/live
Was/saw
Rats/star
God/dog
Swap/paws
Reviled/deliver
Repaid/diaper
Lived/devil
Pots/stop
Smart/trams
Warts/straw
Adaven/Nevada
Stressed/ desserts
Successive letters of the alphabet per line using A through S
Ann was born at a time when females lacked rights.
Both parents warned, her purity must be unphased.
Chastity, shame and sin were lectured day and night,
dictating a future marriage in accord with social mores.
Each day, since a teen, she prayed love to be as hoped.
Fraught, these feelings dimmed in society’s grim scope.
Girly and gangly at sixteen, her parents did chance
Hank, a farmer, as Ann’s best offered circumstance.
Ignorant all, there was not one thought of romance,
just opportunity to make Ann a legal, proper wife.
Knots grew in Ann’s heart and her fears were rife,
life's labels demanded she be Hank’s property for life.
Married life forced Ann to labor on Hank’s farm -
nasty blistered hands to atone for his lazy harm.
Oblivion was often sought by Hank through drinking,
pushing Ann to slave or see her survival sinking.
Quietly, she daily tended all crops and chores.
Unfit drunk, she often tripped him for floor decor.
Repulsed by his stank fueled breath and awful snorts,
She viewed murderous plots in her brain for sport.
Swift stirring spring
Brilliant blooming buds
Soaring soothing sun
Fiercely falling floods
Soft soothing summer
Warm wandering waves
Sunny salty seaside
Careless conscious craves
Alluring active autumn
Lovely looking leaves
Dimmer days develop
Gangly grass grieves
Whirling winter wind
Bitter bulky breath
Softly sailing snowflakes
Daintily dwindling death
I reach into the attic of repressed memories
To vague dreams that could’ve been realised
That once seemed so vast and infinite
And all things possible and significant
To find a dusty disillusioned self portrait
Of how life’s been truly portrayed
Too gangly and uncoordinated to run
Introverted and deprived of fun
The starving kids in Ethiopia
I would grow to offer them a Utopia
A warm shelter and some clothes
An education and a bag of oats
When hunger hindered innocence’ play
Curable disease on their souls preyed
A great man wealthy and noble
Would rise to champion his people
Painting the dark continent brighter days
With love our greatest gift to the human race
And return some of it to orphans stolen by AIDS
When I become the President of the United States
08-20-2015
Contest:
Silent One's Childhood dreams
Could I ever really say
what was in her mind and heart that day?
I was eighteen needing to know
who she was and what she was like
and more -
to ask her why.
To give up a child of only four,
a sister and a brother and one more never discovered.
Not sure who was more nervous
me or her and her latest husband opening the door.
Nervous, unsteady and chain smoking
she sat at the kitchen table in a small kitchen.
He whispered in my ear and softly asked
be kind, she has had a very hard time.
So many questions raised, unsure just what to ask
how her and my father went their separate ways.
She was angry at first, filled with memory and hurt
and as a young teenage mother made that decision to part.
Looking like the pictured girl I'd long imagined
she not once, dare look into my eyes.
Perhaps for fear that she might cry or reveal other secrets
as she spoke disparaging of my grandmother.
Said she was hard, cold and far too demanding,
and that was how I gained a home.
Siblings were adopted and my mother vowed
my father's side would never adopt any but
she gave in to gram's persistent nagging and let me go
as I was tall and gangly, unadopted at four years old.
Two younger teenage daughters came in the house,
and she briefly introduced me - as a friend of the family.
They were unawares, I cringed a moment, then bit my tongue,
held silent but grateful to where I had gone to be raised.
No more questions anymore
she barely smiled at our uncomfortable goodbye.
She was the mother of my heart, my body
but never of my mind and soul,
that place will ever be reserved
for my grandmother alone.
Long Lost Family contest 8/14/2016