Best Gloats Poems
Glacial hills rise elevating fervid sights
Mesmerizing desires adorned turquoise blue
Arousing cobalt passions in sapphire heights
Floating cotton balls on melting cyan hue.
Above your scenic view gloats the sunlit sky
Lifting eager vibes upon hearing my sigh
Urging the frozen glaciers to woo romance
Embracing zealous emotions held in trance.
October 18, 2018
Rhyme: abab ccdd. Eight lines, 11 syllables each
Placed 3rd:Mid March 2019 contest by Brian Strand
Though your eyes may not see it
when you look at me;
I am a child at heart.
Into my Crayola box of colors
I dive and dance;
my crayons, my best buds, shout,
“Pick me…pick me!”
I can’t decide and close
my eyes and grab one;
how it haughtily gloats upon the
page I am coloring.
I get excited when I color;
my crayon shouts,
“Don’t squeeze me so hard!”
I nearly drop it; I wasn’t expecting that;
crayons don’t usually protest.
When I am finished, there’ll be
jealous crayons who weren’t picked but,
I tell them, another picture is for you;
and they calm down.
Coloring releases my muse to play.
Children laugh when I tell them about
my competitive crayons;
It inspires them to color-dance
along with us.
2-4-19
with dusk approaching
the radiance of the day
melts in the rain
streetlights smear
the autumn colours
across the footpaths
doubling the display
of chromatic foliage
autumn gloats
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
What could have been more expected
from a system created on greed
Where the donors all make legislation
via Congress they constantly feed
When a country is poisoned by money
it no longer looks out for the small
It is owned and controlled by the richest
who’ve decided that they want it all
Our history, bloody and violent
was a preview of what we would be
Just because we can’t see all the bodies
doesn’t mean that their spirits are free
The obsession with money and power
are the perfect dictatorship blend
Void of love for the land or the people
who are merely a means to an end
They all file in the chamber like robots
and their leader looks on as he gloats
The decisions made by all their donors
turn into the Congressional votes
They say capitalism is wonderful
but who is it wonderful for
It is not for the factory worker
nor the people who mop up the floor
It is not for the ones who build buildings
or the secretaries or the clerks
It is not for the drivers of buses
or the ones who toil in public works
Capitalism is poisoned
it is not for the poor or the old
It is not for the cooks or the teachers
or the soldiers, as they have been told
The system is for corporate donors
who get rich on the taxes we pay
We all work to provide them the money
which they triple on stock market play
SECRET LOVE OF MARIE ANTOINETTE
The raving of last night is everywhere,
she hopes in candle-light; she sets her hair,
while Paris lulls to sleep, the storm goes on
more promises to keep, before the dawn.
More lightning gloats her room, she shakes her head,
and thunderous, the gloom would raise the dead;
in shadows from the sound, where devils wait,
she feels them all around, but it is late;
and so she puts aside her greatest fear,
the feeling someone's died, and very near.
he sees her in the glow and flashing light,
from where she does not know. He waits tonight,
behind her closing door, he's never seen,
he waits to love her with his guillotine
so beautiful in dreams he's always known
her look not what it seems, but his alone.
He's put her in his head, his mortal sin,
her love is just as dead as he has been
all of his life and time, eternally,
and love can't be a crime, if meant to be.
© ron wilson aka ron arbuthnot
aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
The master forces his clowns to laugh
when polka dots become the wearers.
An audience roars…a pained choreograph;
behind the scene, the wounded howl tears.
What man is he who tugs the moppet strands?
Twisting acts at whim for raunchy tricks
and controlling moves through strict demands,
only to bruise the shame he inflicts.
The crowd hollers as he waves the rope
Oh master gloats; new slapstick begins.
Hushed are the young mimics just to cope,
till one bawls ,” please Dad, we are your kin.”
John Lawless' Puppets Contest
by nette onclaud
12/25/2014
The glow of her skin is patchwork yellow
She has been pierced by the rain on her soul
Her face, stained by tears, sings with a cello
Crying seems rampant and beyond control
But the colors of her soul is released
And projected on herself as a whole
There are days in which she is quite displeased
Her lifeless stare seeps into her being
Closed, her mind leaves her body, she has eased
Timeless feel of the enigmatic ring
Caressing her real hard, rough life again
Not a selfless bone in her body sings
She lives a rough life, her soul’s in a den
Sadness is envisioned by her mind’s eye
Mighty she gloats of her prowess she pens
Her fierce eyes penetrate all those she spies
Raw feelings compete with all those that lie
Russell Sivey
I Can't Breathe
I can't breathe when truth is choked out
can not stand by and not toss truth with a shout
I can't fathom the mind it does take
to ignore truth and race onward with a fake
Story that is so easy to rightly disprove
promote a lie to get going such a violent move
Anything goes to run such a political scam
I reject this fraud with all that I am
Win battles with truth as your shield
deceitful tactics will never force right to yield
A man dies, find out the true medical cause
spinning yarns gives decent folks time to pause
Ponder the reason hatred thrives on bold lies
Hate finds fertile ground whenever truth dies
Robert Lindley 12-08-2014
note. An honest person, a person with integrity will
find the truth before joining the bandwagon of lies.
Sad that a man died because of a stupid law but dying because
of bad health issues is not murder by police. Truth is
no choke hold was used.
"I can't breathe truth did so moan,
darkness gloats as light has now gone
Lying blade cuts like a razor knife,
wounds sought to stir hatred and strife!"
A SHAME THAT THE LEADING BLOG AUTHOR HERE SCREAMING ON THIS SUBJECT (ASKING FOR POEMS) HAS ME BLOCKED FROM REPLYING THERE ABOUT MY POEM ON THE SUBJECT.
I guess banning truth goes in with the agenda for some , eh?
THE EXECUTIONER --Death Of Marie Antoinette
The raving of the night is everywhere,
you lie in candle-light; you brush your hair,
while Paris lulls to sleep, the storm goes on
more promises to keep, before the dawn.
More lightning gloats your room, you shake your head
and thunderous, the gloom would raise the dead;
in shadows from the sound, where devils wait,
you feel them all around, but it is late;
and so you put aside those things you think fear,
the feeling someone's died, and very near.
he sees you in the glow and flashing light,
from where you do not know he waits tonight,
behind the closet door, it creaks ajar,
he waits to see some more of who you are;
so beautiful in dreams, he's always known
your look is what it seems, and his alone.
He's put it in his head, his mortal sin,
your love is just as dead as he has been
all of his life and time, eternally,
and love can't be a crime, if meant to be.
Outcast from all of life, he's died before,
and waits there on this night, to die some more,
not caring it's your fate; the guillotine;
his love will come too late, to save his queen.
You'll die tonight again, it's all been planned,
from time, you don't know when, nor understand,
he's every man you've seen, but never known,
and everything between, love and alone;
from lonliness, and hate of every man,
you've ever met too late, since love began,
from loving one who lied, and cut you deep,
not caring how you cried yourself to sleep;
the cyclone rages on, the storm is great,
your beautiful has gone to be your fate,
and you, the only queen he'll recognize,
are all his love has seen with his own eyes;
if only he would kill, and get it on,
perhaps you'd sleep until your sleep is gone,
but shadows hide your death there on the wall
until your final breath, to sleep you fall,
and that is when you feel what no-one knows,
there in your mind, but real, the wind that blows
to end the shadowed night, before you sleep,
and snuffs the candle light, you try to keep.
Your guilliotine awaits, there is no cake,
to share with anyone, your big mistake,
and so his glove is steady on the bar,
delivering his shiny blade to who you are.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
An active storm forecast for Hurricane Season
Sandbags, evacuations can save people’s lives
But offshore in black water a new threat now thrives
Inland states may suffer too, here’s the reason
Storms gain power in Gulf seas betrayed by treason
Soaking up dark sea’s moisture, such power derives
Will tropical cyclones carry black rain like knives
Giving inland farm crops, city streets a greasin’
The man-made drilling well still spews oil that floats
But the clouds of great storms may be darker this year
Murky sea water now lies in the Gulf storms’ path
Ma Nature has an aerial view as she gloats
Remains of dinosaurs fill hurricanes with fear
Bitter justice abounds in a defiled earth’s wrath
Wisdom: a cliché,
a soul left undernourished
as ignorance gloats.
Kate stared out the window as the snow fell,
singing “Frosty the Snowman” very well
She walked to the isthmus,
thinking about Christmas
Kate played “Jingle Bells” with a shiny bell.
She spotted a sled in wanted to ride,
nervous looking ahead as she down slide
“Winter Fairy land” heard playing,
with joy as she was slaying
She enjoyed the sled bells jingle with pride.
Her cousins came over with their new toys
Her mom trimming the Christmas tree with boys
Mom singing “ho ho ho” clear
We were like “no no no” dear
Everyone laughing loud echoes loud noise.
Kate feeling jealous of her cousins gifts
Wonders if Santa Claus got to her lists
Elves stood in her room with bags
Kate face showed the brags
Gloats gifts with joy, noticed in the mists.
I was staring at my left side, feeling the beats
my heart floats upon the waves tide, I ignore where to go
The beats are rhytmic,it is hard to keep up
with the waves are about me to kill, I ignore where to go
I tried to dive in this wave but I am beat
I cried to live in this cave where I can hide, I ignore where to go
The seats are reserved in despair whether the heat
burns,or the sea is to spill its darkness on me, I ignore where to go
I was staring at my right side, cannot feel my feets
my part gloats over my hellish ride, I ignore where to go
The neatest dark costume of life I used to wear
the dearest spark is consumed to chill, I ignore where to go
I prayed to survive but the wave to my strengh is unaware
It sprayed its salty water,I had to bide ,I ignore where to go
I hopped the wave, I wiped the salt and I felt neat
I hoped to wave ,to survive I took the pill, I ignore where to go
Hafssa is the only girl to save herself from this cussed wave
I strongly beat the swirl that used to put me aside, I ignore where to go
Sonny sat on the floor
in a low lit corner of the bedroom
he hugged his trumpet
as a young man they had had great times
he reminisced of his love for his horn
He was unable to play it well now
not since his stroke nine years ago
had stolen away his embouchure
and destroyed his ability to sustain the notes in tune
He tried to play his horn but too often
the notes sounded like screeches from hell
he recalled his glory years in high school
where he shone like a star
He received two gold medals playing Rafael Mendez’
arrangement of the “Mendelssohn Concerto”
he was 17 years old and felt the future was his
but he was 80 now
and still lugged his old recycled memories,
never realizing he and the world would get old
too soon
Nostalgia, the bane of old folks
was Sonny's saving grace
As a young man he achieved the goals he set
no matter how insignificant they might have seemed
And the feeling of those supreme achievements never tarnished
those moments of struggle made his life meaningful
soon enough the time came to hit the big time
but the big time was not so welcoming
There are those who come into this world
full of aspirations but never get blessed by the hand of God
no matter how great their desire,
then there are the fortunate ones who are born cupped in God's hands
and are given the privilege to reveal the music of the spheres
It was Sonny’s 70th birthday when he had his stroke
he cursed the abomination that had befallen him
though the stroke marred his old age
marvelous blessings did happen to him
At age 24, Sonny fell in love, married a beautiful Irish woman,
had two adorable kids, later to be a pain in his butt
but the kids are married and gone now
and all's well in Sonny Land
Sonny and his wife are still married, going on 60 years
one could say theirs was a union made in God's cupped hands.
An added piece to this story:
Sonny's son had two marriages, one successful one not so
and several business ventures but he was lucky, he gloats with pride
because as glitchy as his life had been he had become rich
"Some guys have all the luck, huh Dad," he said.
Sonny replied, "If that be the case, son, so be it,
Our longevity has made our love real, but we're happy for you,
you have the money but we have real love.
Caligula,boss of the roman empire
he and his horse Incitatus
they ruled with sword and searing fire
his horse was truly audacious
hanging out at the local bar
Incitatus and Caligula gloats
parting never very far
drinking beer and eating oats
Toast to feats and daring raids
on the Gaules of olden France
they teased the nearly naked maids
and tipped them all to dance
the girls would scream with pain
when Incitatus stomped their toes
Caligula ordered a round again
to salute themselves heros
at two oclock they close the moats
the castle was very far
with too much beer and many oats
they left the local bar!