Best Grimed Poems
In grimed secluded alleyway’s it’s his key into the divine,
Believing deliverance has arrived while he walks this narrow line,
Those eyes begin seeing reality his mind now lucid has cleared,
The truth’s of his past now a cacophony welling up within perfect ears,
Numbing out his nervous system a blind faith blanketed brain,
Sporadic lighting of violent flashes lost within his mind deranged,
Everything once believed assured now snippets of a life long elapsed,
Consigning his soul to valueless spirits his self worth allowed to collapse,
Without destination a wandering shell conforming to push through the days,
Ignoring the voices of pleas and salvation sinking farther within mired haze,
Memories taunting of mandible grasps devouring slowly his will to survive,
Nightmares convulsing those hideous features transforming beauty into
despised,
Shrinking in angst from real vindication devolving back where the journey began,
He ties off his arm inserting the needle releasing the demons inside once again.
Categories:
grimed, life, loss, sad,
Form:
Verse
Glancing down from breathless heights,
Amidst climey sighs,
The looming colossus awakens from slumber
And stretches across Thelwalls linear skies.
The hot engines hissing steam -
Recalled from fond memories long back -
Tumbling like huffing little rain clouds
Down from the lofty metal track;
Wherein brightly painted carriages:
The publicans daughter, the verger,
The magistrate, the chief executive -
Seated first class, all habitually sat.
Swift grandiose arches, a celebration
Trumpeting the artful masons cunning devise,
Boast loudly of the great towers
Parallelogram of terrific forces:
Crossing over in giant leaping strides.
Here below, like Hercules reclining,
The stoic gates of Latchfords black fortress locks
Lift to brace against the immense swell
Far and beyond the chimming remarks
Of Greenhalls absolute, mechanically proven,
Georgian bell;
When, ensconced within a purpose-built,
Purple brick tower:
Strikes the centuries old brewery clock
On the twelfth
Of every God given hour.
A rich bankers cantilever
Pushes doggedly against opposing, sheer,
Red Sandstone walls;
Again the mauve and azure rock pigeon claps...
And then...coo, coo, cooingly calls.
Dry buzzing heat blurs over
The hum of a high noons imcumbent midday;
The coup-de-gras scimitar wing stoops -
To fasten onto its slower-witted prey!
Steeped sides slipping amidst tumbling yellow
Gorse and sporadic flowers
Balk at the foreboding waters edge,
Where, over the denizens swirling bowers,
The resolute little rusting lugger,
Puffing and chugging,
relentlessly dredges and scours;
Churning the murky Eastham silts
That drab Manchester draw:
Into the vast hollowing quays
On beachless, concrete Salfords industrialized,
High-rise dockland shore.
Through the deepest part of the black
Channel
A salt grimed hulk smoothly slips...
Attached by a twisted hemp to the tugboat
That hauls the great ships.
Stirred by the bow waves
Flowing and ebbing like currents in time:
From the trough to the peak
The jettison and flotsam climbs -
Before succumbing to powerful undercurrents
Of irresistible designs!
Categories:
grimed, history, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
A Joke on Ellie!
There once was a boatman named “Ellie”
Laughter jiggled his belly like jelly.
He was a fun loving bloke.
That loved to play jokes.
Guess who played one on him; it was Kelly!
The joke that she played was great fun.
After his shave and a hair comb was done,
She carefully groomed his big feet.
His snoring soon meant he did sleep.
Toenails UN-grimed, painted bright red…deed done!
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
February 22, 2010
Poetic form: Limerick x2
Written in memory of my Grandfather. Kelly is fictitious (smiles) but the story is not.
Categories:
grimed, family, funny
Form:
Limerick
Grandfather relaxed
While I cleaned his grimed toenails—
He was a tugboat captain.
It was tradition,
As soon as he fell asleep,
I painted his toenails red.
© February 22, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Sedoka me any subject
Sponsored by: Russell Sivey
Categories:
grimed, childhood, family, funny, nostalgia,
Form:
Sedoka
Such an ironic plight in blinding light of day,
his appreciation, the cruel blindfold o’er eyes,
after his dark time served in dank cell of dismay,
taken out at dawn, a bright morn for his demise.
Rough restrict of ropes constrict, last embrace he’ll feel,
as he’s tied tight, upright, the execution post.
For his people, freedom from oppression he’d steal,
heartbeats, time ticks down, he thinks of those he loves most.
TICK - TOCK - TICK… he wonders if thundering heart's heard
and curses his body for betraying his fear.
A grim line set taut in the stubble of his beard,
hailed a hero, fetor of human fright fills the air.
Tick - tock - tick - trussing death pole lends his back support,
tremulous dread at life’s end - defiance steady,
as the commander begins with the last resort
and raises the rifles, brisk command of; “READY”...
Tick - tock - tears and angst co-mingle behind grimed gauze.
“You can kill this roused rebel, but there’s more the same!”
“Freedom fighters! We're willing to die for the cause!”
With rifles at the ready, a clear retort; “AIM”...
He yells “You can all go to HELL! You cannot quell”...
rebellious heart afire flaring down to the wire,
“this revolution tolls your bell for it will swell!”
TICK - quick as a whip’s lash, the booming command: “FIRE!!”
Susan Ashley
11/20/17
**execution by firing squad, in the past sometimes called fusillading (from the French fusil, rifle)**
Categories:
grimed, death, dream, freedom, military,
Form:
Rhyme
Life has surely broken me.
I’ve flunked out at Everything.
Why consider equally
When Options just desert Me?
Too grimed up, I cannot see
A single reason surfacing,
Hiding Places changing,
Constantly and arbitrarily,
Disappoint inevitably.
It only ends up baffle-ing
That the Ones who stuck by Me
Were No One and Nobody.
The Needed ones Abandoned me,
Never even wanted me.
Been let down by EveryOne
And 100% of Practically
All and and Every Single Thing,
Left for dead and wasting
To a husk of Me.
So what's the point,
Quite pointlessly,
When you will only
Start new things?
Old ones failing,
Interest lost and dropping,
Forcing hands repeatedly.
Home to pack a bag and leave,
All doors slammed resoundingly,
Locks all changed and shut to me.
Happy Endings Abruptly.
Don't care what you do to me.
Lost my sensitivity:
Burning hurts so painfully.
Once Angry scars
Protect My Heart
From all Hope,
Now lost to me.
It doesn’t hurt, just disappoints.
I have no mass, I’ve been disjoined,
Won’t shatter when you drop me.
All do eventually;
A mere eventuality,
Forgone Conclusively.
Categories:
grimed, depression, divorce, emotions, feelings,
Form:
Rhyme
Paper people frayed blowing scattered
Dilapidated faces of stucco and brick
Mumblings of drivel media jargon
While I sketched my eyes with skyline scrapes
Of tomorrow
Televisions smarmy ooze
A toxin injected with neon deception
Voices droning inconsequential clamor
Between shallow breathes of saccharined guile
While I paint my eyes in landscaped snippets
Of yesterday
Moments will mirror lies whispered in ears
A manufactured beauty of unneeded necessities
Singing radio tunes of superior society’s chaos
Spirits dipped in engineered sorrow
While I pencil my eyes with pieces of sky
Of discovery
I escape this modern world...
Categories:
grimed, imagination, introspection, life, time,
Form:
Imagism
If they cage me...
confine with concrete
cold under feet
absorbs into soul as I grow cold
Breathing the air
that isn't there...stagnant wrench
of condemned and contrite
Locked down night sleepless
Left with silence and criminal murmurs
Fits of reflection disturb and distract
I fall asleep to waking angry
tired defeated
If they cage me...
take sun from sky
Wind from leaves
shoe laces and sleeves
take comfort, safety,
solace serenity
Bartered for bath in depravity
Walls scrawled with Hate and Stupidity
etched in grimed paint framed in iron
bars, walls tainted with disease
If they cage me...
deprive life of wellness
Surround me with venom
snakes spit
snake pit of guile slithering
skillful villains
Guarded, forced tough exterior
fear and weakness swallowed
My self hollowed, Dark eyes
deep set, menacing machination
feign fascination in the face
of combative small talk
If they cage me...
the brake won't break me
The foot presses firm
crimps my neck...but yet I breath
I breath freely defiant
not obsessed with
oppressed state
Clenched teeth and fists
mind clenched to resist
The walls will confine me
they will never define me
never will they ever
destroy me
Categories:
grimed, inspirational
Form:
Free verse
CIRLCLE OF LOVE AND SELF-REGARD:
Here's now a real prevised time...
Some people only get you grimed,
Since you don't disclose your plans,
For them to know what's on your mind.
Even if you accept to at least opine,
You sagely do that through a mime.
And they see it as a very wicked blow,
That you opt and unpredictably throw.
Which makes them grow insanely cold.
Hence, they unwisely become your foes,
Who always try to kill your beautiful soul,
As they unnecessarily stand to oppose.
But they don't get to know your goals,
That you've kept in a well covered bowl.
Truly, as you work manificently to grow,
They assume you to be acting saucy,
Though you don't stay by being flossy.
Yet, whenever you decide to speak,
You're being tagged as a rebel on heat.
So it's good you've been able to decide,
To intelligently move in the best line.
With regard to your mind and heart,
By holding yourself deeply with trust,
In the circle of love and self-regard.
Categories:
grimed, age, growing up, life,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
...Gutshot snarled at Sid’s strange reaction.
“I don’t care if a century’s gone by.
You murdered my brother, and I made a vow,
to take vengeance for Paul before I die.”
Sid just shrugged back at the bandit’s cruel words,
said,”You know it ain’t the old days anymore.
People just don’t go ’round killing at will,
using their guns to settle up old scores.
“There’s no frontier for you to hide out in,
no wild towns for you to spend your loot,
no men to talk of your reputation,
hell, folks these days don’t even wear real boots!”
Gutshot just grimed,”Then I’ll do you a favor,
since both of us have done outlived our time,
tou’ll die just like all your old puncher friends,
and finally vengeance will be all mine.”
Sid sighed again,”If you think I’ll just pull,
then you’re mad, it just isn’t done these days.
That’s why Mort at the bar has a shot-gun,
and is all ready to blow you away.”
Gutshot spun to see the bartender,
expecting to find the short barman armed,
but instead the bartender had his hands up,
and he was trembling with great alarm.
He turned back just in time to see Sid’s gun flash,
the bullet caught him square in the forehead,
Sid had not even gotten up from his chair
to render the crusty, old bandit dead.
He just shook his head, reloaded his gun,
said,”Well I guess some things don’t ever change.
You better get the police over here,
they’ll probably want someone to explain.”
The bartended nodded, sent his glass-washer
to go fetch the law from the nearby town,
Sid just ordered himself a new whiskey
and took a long time to drink it on down.
He looked at Gutshot, and said to himself,
“I guess he couldn’t live without a frontier,
no places left for him to sulk about,
no spot left that would let him spread his fear.”
Sid shrugged his shoulders, and kicked up his heels,
feeling the alcohol work on his mind,
but he had to admit it had been a thrill
to relive a bit of his younger times.
Categories:
grimed, age, anger, conflict, history,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
We were always a little ash white,
the girls always a bit cleaner;
the soap always green carbolic
the toilet paper always slick and hard to scrunch,
six year old bottoms always a little sore.
The nuns who ran these grey bricked barracks
called it the: Covent of 'Saint Hilda's Sacred Tears.'
There were lots of tears but no saints.
No black kids either, though there were many
seen on the grimed streets. They looked well fed and happy.
We were different. Our parents had sinned,
had broken the golden rule and got caught
birthing the unwanted.
Back then the birch cane was an instrument of love.
From here-on I must paraphrase...
Each Sunday, The scrawny priest
would look down upon us -
speaking thusly:
"You're all sinful
fit only for cannon or factory fodder,
forever doomed to poverty."
A pause while he did the sign of the cross
while mumbling to himself in Latin.
"The righteous must
resign themselves in good grace
to their natural place,
to humbly throw themselves
upon the mercy of their betters."
Such sermons filled us all with much joy,
and we were all briefly uplifted
until the hatchet-faced nuns
led us back to our own special hell.
Categories:
grimed, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
The swaying of bamboo outside,
The ever-flushing ocean of air,
Spoken through the tongues of leaves...
And this is merely outside my bedroom window.
Oh no, folks, I needn't go anywhere on my day off.
Nature pours the Lord right through these grimed screens.
I suggest we do the same:
Find the heart
Pour it out
Breathe the easy-rolling spirit.
Sharing all of our parts.
Categories:
grimed, love, nature
Form:
Free verse
A mirror up from the Earth world
Was brought, and placed before God.
"My billion and one likenesses!"
Angels with grimed hands just nod.
Categories:
grimed, mirror,
Form:
Rhyme
The high moors slant giddily over gritstone edges
where torrents overflow gallons of sky.
Grouse are blown sideways
by a bone-twisting gale.
The land is harried by fishtailing winds,
a sparse tufted earth blown beyond its roots.
In the valley, cats crouch; dogs snap the air
their barks as full as storm-drains.
Torrid echo’s outrun stampeding frights.
In the village pub,
locals move away from the smoke grimed
rattling windows,
gather around a coal fire in the taproom,
speak about past storms, compare and contrast.
Street sparrows survive
by doing what they always do,
though nobody knows how, what or where.
Categories:
grimed, poetry,
Form:
Free verse