Best Gloated Poems
Written: January 29, 2024
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When a hurricane swirled,
and spread its deluge
of dark evil
onto the fresh green land
gloated
western skies reverberated
with joyous tales
trees had fallen!
ace-high trunk is besotted!
hurricane harms tree life
Had the tree fallen?
not in our endless red streams
not while our thorny limbs,
fed the thirsty roots
while roots are still alive
tunneling deep
deep into the land!
When trees rise, branches
flourish green and fresh in the sun
Tree laughing will fade in the light
and birds shall return
Undoubtedly, the birds will return
The birds will return.
Behold the majesty of a tree
a miracle of nature
standing tall and unwavering
in the face of snow, rain,
and all life's challenges
marvel at divine creation
as trees pray with leafy arms
and wear nests akin to jewels
fools may write poems
the sole divine makes such sights
so witness the wonder
that is a tree—a testament,
to the enduring power
of nature and the divine.
Categories:
gloated, appreciation, beauty, earth, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
Waking to sight of day
The ironic disorientation
bedroom ceiling moviescreen
fades out this dreams last scene
left looking dumbfounded at tiles
Sunrays shine splintered through bent blinds
casting illuminous entities into otherwise
darker turf
Blanket tangles limbs and ambition tight
traversing body and shielding one eye
guarding it from the illuminites
I draw higher to seek shelter for both
Life's rumble manifests in murmurs
builds gradual, head clears
Horns, tires, voices-reality appears
The window sings soundtrack for urban noise
the horn annoys-the voices noise-the bird song annoys
noise annoys noise and pisses me off!!!
Mind flips modes from hazy wander lust
To more acute senses... tune and adjust
The morning is a step ahead
we will assimilate soon-just before noon
Rise ...casting off covers takes convincing
face the day begrudging and wincing
See...this Evening's eve was very good to me
I reveled in debauchery-I tore the town down, you see?
I went to the school of bar-red knocks--and rocked
bellied up brasher shot for shot
As the sour mash showed effects
I drunk dialed my entire roladex
Jameson ,my Irish ego, whispered dares to me
I performed them to shocked stares, you See?!
We gloated stumbling in revelry
This is the price for the tab last night....
The noise pounds into my mind
Street noise, chirp annoys, pound in my head noise
noise annoys noise
Categories:
gloated, funny
Form:
Free verse
I picked up some words,
From an over heaped pile,
Words which impressed me most.
Put them carefully onto a blank paper,
Like a practiced player placing,
Rooks and pawns on a chequered grid.
Seeing page after page getting filled
With a deluge of words, I felt thrilled,
Viewed it casually from a distance,
Like an artist looking at a painting.
I saw words become colors,
My prodigality with words impressed me.
I gloated over my ability as a writer.
Lo! A work of literature in crude form,
Stood ready, willing to be chipped and shaped.
All left was to give it a form,
A stroke here and there,
Some finishing touches!
“It’s all so damn easy,
I shall keep the thing aside,
Ample time lies ahead.
I can now relax, take a break”.
I said to myself, complacent.,
Days slipped by and months rolled away.
One day I took out the scroll,
Wiping the dust and cobwebs away.
Read through it slowly,
My former illusion just faded away.
Its stale familiarity repelled me.
Words stuck out here and there,
Making no coherent sense.
All I found was a jumbled, jotted mass.
To me, ere they looked like lovely dames,
Colorfully dressed up for a mega show.
My eyes were dazzled by their costume,
But now when I wait for them to fall in line,
Gyrating in rhythmic steps
They stand still as a disorderly mass,
Refusing to budge an inch,
Unwilling to sway to a rhyme.
Lost in a barren desert of words,
With each grain of thought
Looking so similar, lacking uniqueness,
I set aside my empty new canvas,
Which I had kept ready for re-entering.
Until the artist in me comes up
With a new configuration of colors
Let it rest in the drawer of my shelf.
Categories:
gloated, art, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
For my sins and everything I ever did or sought to be,
Contempt and dying to be clever in unfathomed pools of sadness,
I plumbed each depth and splashed the ether, oscillated shakily,
Strapped to dark beliefs and definitions, all I gleaned of me was badness.
In my heart I hoarded secrets, guarded, gloated jealously,
Something touched quiescent feelings, split the stone upon the grave;
Resurrected dead ambitions with a Lazarus decree
And in doing so, in side-effect, unearthed a soul to save.
You did nothing of importance, so you reckoned pensively,
But if not for you, at close of play, I would have stayed the same;
Doing penance, going nowhere, shooting blanks haphazardly
In a thermos of reflection with nowhere to lay the blame.
In the dusky tones of evensong a plaintive melody
Croons through mazes in my image and exalts together days;
So perhaps, by your sweet process, you brought out the best in me,
And therein must lie the truth, that what we had has worked both ways.
Categories:
gloated, introspection, life, loss, lost
Form:
Verse
Heartsong.
Where the physical meets philosophy
In Arcady rare love joined you to me
Fated bowstring of a song has severed
Seeking Lethe, Did thou seer seek to sere?
Shreds of sinews hearts damned ruptured weir.
Where the physical meets philosophy.
Paths of lovers, will-to-power or fated,
Bloated hearts, gloated, fetid then faded,
Fated bowstring of a song hath severed,
Tears in streams, rivulets of dreams, regrets
Sans Nepenthe to slake sorrow, to forget
Where the physical meets philosophy
Wake on surreal shores jaded jealous lovers
Sinews snapped, Mortal hearts cannot whether
Life like the dream hearts bereft forever
Fated bowstring— Our heartsong hath severed.
Categories:
gloated, lost love,
Form:
Villanelle
All armored in gear of silver, he stands tall
at the battlefield of war.
She carelessly awaits for the hour, watching
him and learning his many flaws.
He tells her that she can forfeit at any time,
regardless of the state that they are in.
She giggles a laugh of mock, as she rolls her eyes.
Reading his face like a book,
she considers her tactics and skills.
The time has come, the bell has rung and the
battle has now commenced.
She sees him coming her way, and as he runs he
questions why she still stands there in such deviance.
As he approaches her he sees her drop to her knees,
she looks up at him with a look of helplessness.
She questions him, asking away a series of
confounding mind controlling questions.
This devious tactic was that of the opposite gender,
as she cried and cried he couldn't but to surrender.
As he went to her side to offer his comfort,
she quickly ended his life without commiseration,
and stood over his lifeless body, declaring victory.
As she pridefully gloated,
she leaned in and gave him a kiss tasting
of mere repugnance and scorn, they say
hell hath no fury but this was not the end
he gasped his last breath of air as he
swiftly ended her life with a feel of satisfaction.
Unfortunately his fate was in her hands as well
as hers in his so there they laid, him and her, both dead.
Categories:
gloated, deathlife,
Form:
Free verse
Mosquito Bat
Peering closely, I sought to quickly skim through the online latest news …
True to form, I am a stickler for keeping up with the latest happening news…
Given this internet age and its borderless media reach, there’s always something…
So much to read, so much to keep up to date, just so one’ll be a better man for reading…
Then it happened, even as I was about to scroll the displayed page with the mouse button..
There came a familiar high pitched whine, softly at first but intensifying as its source approaches…
Christ! A blasted mosquito, high tailing in my direction, to my right pinky ear, to be precise…
I froze all motion, rolled and strained my eyeball to squint out of the corner of my right eye…
I saw, at the periphery of my field of vision, the fast approaching obnoxious blood sucker…
Silvery wings furiously beating as it made a bee line to my ear, a beacon for a typical bloody dinner…
Cautiously yet sparing no delay, I reached out for my trusty rechargeable electric mosquito bat…
The offending insect was just about to land, circling in ever tightening circles as I grasped my bat…
Bat upraised in hand, I did a quick head swivel , the dastardly insect was now plain in my sight …
Ah ha, now you are my victim, you stupid little insect! I gloated inwardly as I eyeballed the insect..
Dinner lost, the sudden shift in air movement must have warned this bloodthirsty sucker…
There was a quick change in its flight pattern, it tried to fly out of my vision, tried to flee from danger …
Here, eat this, you bloody miserable ungodly insect! Unhurriedly, almost leisurely, I waved my bat…
Right across the flying path of the fleeing little insect, there was no escape for such was its fate…
A sharp crackle and a quick spark of light, the poor mosquito was no more, no longer in sight…
A plume of whitish smoke, an acrid smell of burnt organic material, yup it was no more alright…
Mentally, I blew across the end of my smoking gun barrel like any swashbuckling vigilante..
Gee, what a lethal combination, me and this rechargeable electric mosquito bat each day…
Got to get a spare, just in case, like my daddy used to say, get ready for a rainy day…
An electric mosquito bat, dear readers, it is a must- have gadget to get, to keep up to date........
Categories:
gloated, celebration, fantasy, goodbye, silly,
Form:
Free verse
With straight laced back to bolster attention
pseudo reflection beguilingly displayed,
silica compressed, provokes recollection
of journey within when the truth was betrayed.
Like frost on the window defeat was coated
In faux sparkling gaiety, in sham masquerade.
That negative twin arrogantly gloated,
as sure as the master controlling the slave.
Reality buried like day demoted
beneath darkness’s oppressive tidal wave,
left to cower, like cur in submissive grave.
With defiance ascending from spark to flame,
to shatter this nightmare before damned defeat,
with a fist turned dentist to fracture this shame,
the remnants of memory lay at my feet.
In sea of slivers my soul still not unbound,
my counterfeit brother in painful retreat,
yet still I am hazy, in mist that confounds,
struggling for release from enigma rhymes
my senses recoiling to the laughter’s sound
and as eyes are cast upon pieces of crime,
each reflection reflected a hundred times.
Categories:
gloated, angst
Form:
Terza Rima
Racism,
and sexism
and violent capitalism
are as American
and as bad for you
and your kids
as pre-millennial rotten and burned-out apple pie-sellers
And ProMatriotic learning
and living
and health loving
post-millennial WinWin co-operators
against LoseLose
racism
and sexism
and violent capitalism
as AntiAmerican
as burning-out
and hanging-out
and banging-out
and harming the health in any way,
of matriotic cooperative apple-pie makers.
So said,
rather more than less,
one of the ancient river campers
speaking curbside
before the double-glass front doors
of his Cumberland Farms Cathedral.
In a sad and quiet voice.
Not a position he gloated about
as if he stood morally apart.
Rather,
he speaks of dis-integrity
of our shared powerless positions
as autonomous systems,
struggling through each impoverishing day
of lost good faith youth
for, now, mere survival
when we could become sooo very much lighter
to rediscover
remaining integrity of our identity systems
for cooperative organic thrival.
Outside,
my neighborhood prophet
for world peace
was long and lean
with sun-dried and bronzed wrinkled skin
over muscled sinew,
a long-grey bearded
and skeletal nature mystic,
with clear and open stereophonic memorizing eyes.
Inside,
remembering his times with swimming wet green frogs
and sleek flying flashing ravens,
eagles of EarthPatriotic balance,
both honorable predators
and prey to aging apple pies
regretted and suffered
by long grey-bearded prophetic times
surviving threats and violence of nationalistic racism
and monotheistic sexism
and MightMakesRight capitalism,
WinLose subnormal optimization
of WinWin BothAnd opportunities,
Left integrated in and outside Right-felt memories
of maternal love
far too unmatriotically far behind
for EarthTribe's cooperative thrival
of these our fit-in
cooperative powerlessness.
So, I asked our neighborhood prophet
if he had mentioned these problems to the Mayor.
"I guess your news for today,
I am the Mayor."
Categories:
gloated, age, caregiving, gender, health,
Form:
Political Verse
In the wild confusion of my life, I saw your face,
A kind countenance making bright my days.
Through rugged tracks when I stumbled along,
I felt an unseen hand holding me strong.
When bewildered by the horrid scenes of death,
You assured that life extends beyond mortal breath.
When lost in the dank and dark alley of wickedness,
You diverted my steps into the well-lit path of righteousness.
When I gloated over my own trivial accomplishments,
You reminded me of my littleness through mild chastisements.
When I lost myself in the grip of vanity,
You opened my inner eye to restore my sanity.
When tossed by the currents of fiery storms,
Lord, you made me seek the safety of your arms.
When drowning in the sea of escalating pain,
You strengthened and sustained me, and kept me sane.
When many got wiped out from the face of the Earth
Without seeing a new day’s golden birth,
Thank you for allowing me to see this glorious dawn.
‘Extend your hand’, I pray, for me to hold on!
Make me feel, you are there in every rhythm of my life
More when life becomes burdensome with problems rife.
Over the arid deserts and the stormy turbulent sea,
I pray to be by my side as an abiding presence, piloting me.
My Lord, without you, my life will be in peril.
Never let me fall into the snares of the devil.
Do not desert me, stay by my side now and ever.
Be my guiding light and sanctify my every endeavor!
Categories:
gloated, angst, devotion, god, inspirational
Form:
Rhyme
Just like Isaiah was sent forth,
So too Did Sylvia Browne, Up North;
Sent to Preach to both gentiles and jews alike
And in “End Of Days” she wrote her spike.
Gloated over and called , Mad,
Mocked and jeered by many a lad,
And just like Isaiah, heeded not
so too, she was cut short.
They abided not by His word
Basking in pleasanteries far from the Lord,
Shunning his mercy page by page
Oblivious of His heinous rage
Then the Almighty fury
Bursted through the clouds in glory
Erupting from His glorious Hand
Landing in Turrets, in Wuhan!!
Like a scyth, men bowed like grasses
like smitherrens, they scattered like glasses
Spanish flu some did say,
But on and on, it spiraled, paused in replay.
The Media reeked of it
Others exclaimed “ God forbid”
On and on it erupted steadily,
From the hand that pointed unwaveringly.
Presidents sweated themselves in agony
while the old became history
Researchers hit heads on doorways,
mixing chemicals under sunrays.
“God’s wrath on Us for being inhumane?
Or Mans means to keep the poupulation maim?”
Such thoughts invaded many a head
While some more took to bed.
The Hand of God at us still points steadily
For our sins has cost us heavily
And while Science has bounced minutely
Is Time to return to God in Harmony.
While the heart is Pure
And Man is at peace with his brother for Sure
Only then Would God uplift his Hand
And Free us from the plight ofWuhan.
Categories:
gloated, anger, death, death of
Form:
Epic
They were happily wed for fifty years but a dilemma that nettled,
Was their differing political leanings that they never, ever settled!
Every time a local or national election cycle approached,
The battle began as the virtues of their candidates were broached!
The donkey was the symbol of the party espoused by Ma,
And the elephant was the emblem of the party championed by Pa!
They agreed on how to raise the kids and on matters of religion,
But to agree on political affairs - nary one little smidgen!
For generations Ma's leanings were in-bred - she'd never convert.
Pa held similar feelings - his beloved party he'd never desert.
The slightest mention of the attributes of the opposing candidate,
Would spark another inflammatory table-pounding debate!
The outcome of elections they'd both eagerly anticipate.
Invariably, one of them gloated leaving the losing one irate!
If the man steering the ship of state committed a silly dido,
The other danced with glee saying, "Didn't I tell you so!"
Their never-ending spat even continued beyond the grave,
As on separate stones these epitaphs they did engrave:
"Here a Democrat lies; A lovely wife with the wrong party ties!"
"Here a Republican lies; A loving spouse but politically unwise!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
gloated, funny, political, political,
Form:
Rhyme
At age three she was the baby who couldn't feel afraid
A life track was set out, just the way she was made
They tested her at eighteen, with images of blood and gore
No galvanic skin response, a smile and nothing more
She lied from early on, another way to control
If you had contact with her, it was bound to take a toll
There are doors we wouldn't open, taboos and virtue codes
But like a moth to a light, she went down those wicked roads
She gloated at misfortune, but had superficial charm
It lowered your defenses when you should feel strong alarm
She was rarely caught or punished, usually won the game
Gaslighted victims in courts of law, never took the blame.
She came toward me one day, emotionless as a rock
Saw me with my child, the change gave me a shock
A look of gleeful sadism, on what had been a normal face
Then she recomposed, the revelation left no trace.
There are people who seek aliens in the depths of outer space
But they should look here on earth, within the human race
No pity is found within our alien's mirthless laugh
Inside them bad emotions thrive, beware the psychopath.
You read about these types sometimes, when the truth comes through
You get angry, feel disgust, maybe despair too.
There's no redemption possible, but do they deserve your wrath?
A mis-wired brain is all you need to explain the psychopath.
Categories:
gloated, betrayal, character, emotions, evil,
Form:
Lyric
Diametric opposites in the plague zone,
Segregated genders on uncommon ground,
Existential sexes in grey areas,
Black and white battalions abound.
Separation psyches clash the cymbals,
Sabres rattled, thrusted and withdrawn,
Subtle be their subterfuge endemic,
Equilateral counterparts in scorn.
Her losing is a mask of false perception,
His dominance prevailed through brutal force,
Victory consigned a bleak illusion,
Blinded to an ancient Trojan horse.
Triumph may be gloated yet is hollow,
Garland praise a self-deluding flaw,
Leaves he who is the master of the skirmish
Historically the loser of the war.
Categories:
gloated, history, life, loss, love,
Form:
Verse
How many Friends Have You Now?
How many friends have you now?
How many write you everyday
Say they are sorry and their nation will pay?
How many have apologised?
How many have realised?
How their relatives have taken part?
Shot your countryman in the heart?
Raped your women and tortured your men?
How many are distressed?
How many digress and never mention
The killing brought by their country’s intervention?
Called you a bandelaro to your face
Said that they want to extinguish your race?
How many have visited with flowers?
Cried with you for hours?
How many begged your forgiveness?
Showed their true friendship, through their stress?
How many have knocked your door?
None, as I can see
None smatree (Russian for see)
None held your hand
Begged they didn’t understand
Many apologised and relished victory in their eyes
Saw an easy win,
gloated through the Crimea sin.
Friends have borders too
These are no friends of you.
David Cox 11/06/23
Categories:
gloated, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Rhyme