Best Gawd Poems
You didn’t notice my tears.
As you both kissed each other
like two lonely plungers
who just escaped from plumber’s solitary confinement,
your eyes open and wander up.
You didn’t look across that banquet hall
with my feet planted against wood polished tendencies.
Its creaks motioning time towards yellow-signal identity.
As my breath declares sudden death
against lake’s dripping reflections…
…you didn’t think to set your photo album on private.
Advertising lust
wrapped in pretentious cloak
sewed in recycled fibers of “love”.
With ignorant enablers speaking chic-flick tongue,
“Oh My Gawd! I’m so happy for you! I wanna ovulate!”
As I, put my head down
returning to this moment in time,
I had to let my song…cry.
Lenny Williams begins to exude “cause I love you” chorus,
as I walk towards bar
sensing your seductive retinas
stroking against my Latin swagger.
Your ring finger
chained by 3 carat, naïve cut, diamond
motions an intense, streaking caress
against wine glass filled with Zinfandel sin.
Because you know I am your addiction.
Your diabetic lips never forgot
that taste
of my
brown
sugar.
But, you didn’t notice my tears.
I wish you had.
For all this time, these tears
were of joyful splendor.
Because solace holds my hand
with candlelight warmth.
Slow dancing with my soul
in mystery Salsa sway.
While you stand on home plate,
holding your 2nd place trophy,
with 3 strikes against you.
A reminder that my heart,
was flexible enough
to dodge
a bullet.
© Drake J. Eszes
I am just a girl writing poetry (a woman) poetess like many and
it is sad how there are cliques that push their views
allmostlike . . . a gang with an influential alpha leader
the center of attention in words and words( infinity)
abashing the non-believers (those of a different opinion)
a narrow-minded few and haven for personswithmeanbraincells
I am no stranger to this pain(this childish devastation)
they have no respect for right or wrong or hurting
will bash anyone who stands alone . . .
the followers(like puppydogswaggingtails)follow mindlessly
oh gawd I don't like the clickclattercrackleclink of endless words
the cliqueycliquishcliquishly the inner circle of bullys
held together by a thread of theatrical banterlikebehavior
I know this behaviour(Iwas5yearsold)
see it is not just adolescents girls who enjoy cliquishness
a small group of few can form a crew agangofbashers
shameonyou . . .
but . . . I am proudstrong I am not in a clique
I am independent(yearsofbullying)has been my companion
so echoic cliques are useless againstthehighwall I have built
to protect my soul my spirit my poetry(yet you can still)
breakanalreadybrokenheart . . . shame on you and
thissweetkindgirlwoman has had enough
_____________________________
May 30, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/shameonyou
Copyright Protected, ID 05-678-445-30
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Women Only #2,
sponsor, Kelly Deschler, Judged 2015
Fourth Place
Poem of the Day, June 1, 2015
oh. dear. gawd.
another patently
meaningless
crush of stanzas, jam-packed with
adjectives and color words
straight from Roget's,
strung together in
strands of misuse and
improper context -
syntax-scraping adverbs and
prepositions dangled
at inhuman angles,
rushing in torrents to a
head-scratching conclusion that
leaves lips numb and dripping clear liquid,
fingers combing deep the
strands to tear out in horrid disbelief,
jaws left agape in
utter confusion and
hopelessness ...
it all settles like
brick-heavy clay in
the gut, that this vile destruction of
the English language and
its artistic forms -
this uneducated and
brutal bludgeoning of phraseology -
words replaced
willy-nilly by thesaurus-crazed maniacs,
(all for the sake of
impressing the masses
who don't know the difference),
is garnering dozens of
enthralled ignorance-is-bliss
comments, and placing
first in
contest-after-contest!!
how could any sane,
serious weaver of words
NOT want to blow
their freaking brains out?!?
the coronavirus pandemic
has been NOTHING
compared to the sickening
misuse of words
that flows on-and-on from public
poetry sites in crushing
waves of feigned
eloquence and verbal vivisection ...
could it be, perhaps,
that the circle writing ISN'T inane,
but rather a strangled striving
for the breadth of
non-linear orthography??
welcome to the
ultimate zero sum game -
the mangy monkey in the monkey
puzzle tree,
Schroedinger's kitty,
skinned and nailed to the barn house ...
fan-freaking-tastic ...
let's kill this clairvoyant clown,
quickly ... quietly ...
cuz ...
it. never. ends.
(lack of proper punctuation and capitalization very intentional)
Barbed wire seems a 'thorny' subject on which to opine,
But there arose a need for such for people and beasts to confine!
Cowpokes cussed as they worked with it mutilating their hands.
Sheepherders fussed with cattlemen as it spread across their lands!
'Tis said back in 1874 Joseph Glidden, who 'bristled' with the idea,
Was awarded a patent for barbed wire to provide a cure-all panacea!
Split-rail fencing to outline boundaries was rapidly becoming passe',
To keep neighbors' straying goats, horses and other critters at bay!
Sheriffs found barbed wire handy to enforce a judge's firm dictates,
To confine hoss thieves, cattle rustlers and other such reprobates!
Inmates trying to scamper through the wire were apt to rip their pants,
Or worse, might end up in 'boot hill', caught trying to scale the fence!
Alas, sinister uses for barbed wire were found beyond bucolic meadowlands.
'Twas used to enslave thousands of innocent souls behind its menacing strands.
Thousands of men, women and children were consigned to death at Dachau,
Triblinka, Buchenwald, Ravensbruck and Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Among its many other diverse uses it has even marched off to wars,
To protect gallant American soldiers on far too many alien shores.
Mister Joseph Glidden was doing mankind a great favor, he thought.
Were he alive today he might say, "My gawd, what hath I wrought!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Mom looks through windows
A watched pot will never boil
A daughter's courtship
Contest; "Redneck Psalms, Improve Human Foible"
Sponsored by: John Freeman
Me name is Daniel Morgan
There’s a thousand pounds on me head
Just me and me native lad
We upset the Traps,
the silly chaps,
Gawd strike me dead.
The Traps were camping ,
on the green old lagoon.
Me n Billy shot a few
Had em squealing like a loon,
In New South Wales,
after noon.
Mad Dog Morgan is me name,
Bushranging is me plurry game,
With my pistol you will bail up,
Some say I’m really quite insane,
Some wont give me up,
either?
So they shot me in the throat,
An here I lie a dying,
Cut off me bloody head ,
Gawd strike me dead,
Police desk, me skull, a lying.
Scrotum for tobacco pouch.
For Victoria’s top Policeman,
Pretty prize,
yes dead or alive,
Don’t be sad n blue, a grieving {about 1865)
Don Johnson
This Irish guy had lots of support,
From the ex convict’s n Aussie sports ,
Deported Irish of all sorts
Not really, not surprising!
It has been DECADES!
And yet, for some ridiculous reason, we
still choose to TIE our shoes and
BUTTON our trousers, ZIP our
blouses.
How ridiculous.
When Man first invented the wheel, do
you suppose that there were some naysayers who said;
"I'm still going to drag my loads through the dirt on a rope. It was
good enough for my father and by gawd it's good enough for me!"
I doubt it.
So. (BUTTONS FLYS LACES)
Why do we stoop to such Medieval methods of
attatchment Today?
Who knows. But I eagerly await the day that Velcro finally
gets the credit it rightfully deserves.
"Hurry!"
"Hurry, you've gotta see this!"
She yelled at me from a hundred yards down the beach ...
So I ran, barefooted, as fast as I could to where she stood
But when I got there ... nothing!
Just her smile as she nipped her bottom lip
"Gawd yer sexy when you run in the sand," she said
Are you kidding me - there's nothing here??
"Oh, I wouldn't say that I was ... nothing" she answered
She did have a point there
"In fact ... since you ran all this way"
She took handfuls of her knee-length hair and lassoed me with it
Pulling me into the dunes and marsh grasses
She had laid out a blanket, neatly
With a basket of food and wine, wrapped in red plaid
"That's dessert, cutie-pie," she motioned
But what about the main course?
She smiled again, falling back onto the blanket
Right hand grasping my belt
"Me," she winked.
I was working for Jack Daymond, a farmer,
who farmed livestock, potatoes and vines.
I s’pose he had over two hundred cattle.
The spuds and the grapes grew in lines.
Oh gawd! Jack had me slaving ‘til sunset,
keeping his farm spick and span.
Jack kept his eyes on the produce,
while I was his cleaning up man.
And that meant me days were all busy,
spraying and killing off weeds,
grubbing out hundreds of tussocks,
before the darn thing set its seeds.
Sometimes old Jack was a good bloke,
he’d jump in with a fine helping hand,
and we’d spend our day in the paddock,
destroying the weeds on his land.
We were digging out plenty of thistles,
in the north paddock up near the creek,
and we worked like a couple of Trojans
clearing what should have taken a week.
Then a voice loudly filled up the air.
And it was quite menacing too.
A bloke in a suit was striding to us,
declaring his strong point of view.
“Mr. Daymond, I am here to warn you,
that I represent government’s need.
It appears that with government water,
that your quota you far did exceed.”
“I’m here to check your irrigation,
and make sure you’re not being unfair.”
Jack Daymond replied “Do what you must,
but don’t go in that paddock up there.”
The bloke in the suit became snaky,
standing over poor Jack with a leer,
“Don’t tell me where I can or can’t go,
See this card that I am holding here.”
“This card is a reminder to you,
I have authority over your land.
I am allowed to go wherever I wish,
have I made myself clear? Do you understand?'
Jack looked down at the card in his hand,
and knew there’s no sense to rebound,
so Jack nodded politely and joined me,
grubbing thistles from out of the ground.
It appeared that Jack had been beaten,
and in silence he’s taking it hard,
between thistles he gazed to the paddock,
at the bloke who had shown him the card.
But then a grin formed on his face,
we heard yelling like never before,
for the bloke in the suit he was sprinting,
and it’s something we cannot ignore.
Jack beat me on reaching the fence.
With the bloke in the suit in full flight,
and hot in pursuit was Jack’s Jersey bull,
with a look that was all sheer delight.
As the bloke in the suit got beside us,
with the bull behind him by a yard,
Old Jack cupped his hands and yelled out -
“Your card! Your card! Show him your card!”
To Be A Poet, Oft Strong Commands Come At Night
Oh, gawd- comes raging middle of the night
This horrid current, rise up and now write
An electric jolt, firing through me bones
Of new fortress looming, huge granite stones
And that tingle surging from old waking soul
As pagan's carving of a totem pole
Words spilling out from a resistant heart
Pen and paper screaming, hurry let's start!
Stumbling amidst and across dim-lit room
Word flowing from life or else dreaded doom
Splash, splash as ink and paper newly wed
Old verses, that a spirited mind said
Some few flavored with Shakespearean awe
Other's cuttings from old lumberjack's saw!
And I, vessel to set these ravings down
Of love, a princess in her golden gown
Dancing slowing across a ballroom floor
One never knows what else comes through that door!
Robert J. Lindley, Nov. 2nd 1978
Rhyme,
( When Poetry Forces A Poet To Wake Up And Write )
we're trapped, and,
inherently speaking
those of us here don't want us to escape : )
what a : )
........
life is time
time is life
it is mine
like a wife
there is no contradiction
(that is not how) it seems
we live in an abstract
(multi-dimensional) the means
ah, the mazes
the phases
the faces
of time
when will it end
these crazes of mine
when
will it end
these hazes of line
....
i see,
said the ban-she,
you are of the hinge
...me!?...am of the cringe,
the lock and the key...so please
allow me to flee...not flea...
oh gawd...it's all up to me...
it's enough to make one screee
...mmm...i've got a thought...a short time out,
try some p_t : )
......hmmm....a bit better....
now for meaning and force of letter,
..........
...need some supper.
Ever take one of those psychological stress quizzes
With one of those psychiatrist
Know-it alls?
Me neither.
Ever gonna?
Me neither.
What would be the point?
Oh, my GAWD! You should be depressed.
Stern look.
I’m not.
Then something is wrong with you.
Thanks.
That will be $150.
You may pay my receptionist on your way out.
That’s it?
Yes, this was your intake session.
I get the receptionist’s phone number on the way out.
We are having coffee so she can tell me more about the
Awful psychiatrist she works for.
I do not feel badly about giving her a
Check that will bounce.
words entwine
Words bounce round inside me head,
an rhyme an rattle till I’ve said,
old timers say “ gawd strike me dead,”
but words just keep a coming,
I try a sleeping in me bed ,
Me skull does rattle, words get fed ,
Out of bed for sleepy head ,
At 2am computer, dreads,
But I keep on typing,
Some poet feeds me, words n rhyme,
I can’t be sleeping at the time,
Comes the inspiration line,
Schizophrenic words entwine:)
Some boring, some exciting…
Pieces Of Paper...A Poet's Heart
Sponsored by: Carol Brown
Don Johnson
Who moved the room? What colors are these?
Where are you going? Chuckle. Chuckle. Who cares?
Gas in the dentist office is not half as great as.
Who are you? Oh. Okay. Sure.
You can crash over there next to the others.
Oh, that is so pretty! Oh, my Gawd! What IS that?
Wow! Keeping myself here always.
Real life can just....
What is going on?
Hey! I have missed you so much! Hey, it's my soul!
My SOUL is here! What are these colors?
I am so damned hungry. Maybe one more brownie.
I will dance with you. No. I will fly with you.
I do not even need you. I need no one!
I am flying now.
I can fly as high as I want.
Call me Peter Pan.
Just let me go.
Let me be.
Who said that? What are you the CIA?
What colors are these? These are NEW colors!
Wow!
When Boehner invited Netanyahu to address Congress, the prez was miffed!
Congress didn't notify him and he whined, "By gawd! I was stiffed!"
Boehner smiled and said, "Sorry, Mr. Prez! This time you get short shrift!"
"Well, you'll never be invited to fly on Air Force One again!" he sniffed!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved