Best Griped Poems
**"And his name was Jack"**
No one perceives what abides above the clouds.
A giant, a harp, maybe golden eggs.
I demand to see and feel before I believe.
A castle, a dream…. I want the magic beans!!!
~~~
I'm the daughter of a farmer.
I have a donkey to ride, a story to tell.
“Jack and the Beanstalk” my favorite tale.
Once upon a morbid dawn.
I inhale a tiny simple yawn
Like the morning sun levitating over the farm,
I rise towards the village square to sell my ass
Along the open path, my ass and I desired a drink.
Near the rustic river,
I'd seen an old Englishman, sitting on a log.
It looked as if time was approaching his brink.
In his hand, he had a sack.
A bag, a bag, embroil of ivory and black.
His eyes were not from this ground.
His body fragile - it uttered a moaning sound.
He was of dirt.
I was pure.
He pledged his life to me.
I debated .... with many thoughts,
Although his eyes...
My eyes... Will never meet again.
"I want what's in the bag!"
In a gasp, he whispers,
"I'll give you anything for that ass.
my legs and bones can’t hold up on their own!”
I knelt down to where he sat
Smelling his essence of rot
I reached forward and grabbed his baggage
He griped, "This bag is all I got!"
I answered, "And this sir is a fine ASS!"
He replied, "I have no cash."
Scowling at him, “NO I want your demon seeds!"
My blood grew thin...
Inhaling and exhaling - his sin
The old man all shriveled and timeworn,
Proposed the birthright of the seeds.
"Yes, plant them! Plant them!"
I cried excitedly!
He pats the field.
Said "there I am done,
now clock as it expands"
To breed this story short...
He dispenses his seeds.
AND, I GAVE HIM MY ASS.
BY;PD
Categories:
griped, adventure, funny, old, rain,
Form:
Free verse
It snowed lightly last night.
I venture into the woods,
hear the silence reigning supreme.
Mutely a light breeze weaved its way
amongst the moss-covered trunks,
the high branches swinging serenely,
the verdant leaves of evergreen trees.
Occasionally a snowflake fluttered down
onto the white path that winded its way
across the solitary forest.
I felt peace in silence
despite the cold that griped
my arthritic old bones.
A few tears of happiness bleared from my sight.
The mist lifted like a silken veil,
all around shone in utter splendor:
a masterpiece of an ethereal painting
of some great master of olden times.
I felt your presence everywhere, O Lord,
I was exhilarated as a bird on the wing,
elated and consoled in utter harmony
with nature's song of praise,
a heavenly sigh to its Creator.
Categories:
griped, peace, silence,
Form:
Free verse
Je suis accro à vos lèvres, ils me rendent fou
Drawn the attraction drowns
screams pulled to seduction
pushed away nights
lead to dawn
where griped moons
wash ashore
Soft eyes smile anxiously
moist lips melt chilled fright
wrap around scents of happy
filter off a delicate daisy
drops of dew linger on petals
of a perfect moment spent
Song birds arise off a blanketed blind
chasing winds before they begin to fade
first rays of light dance with sated hearts
eyes blink, fingers entwine, love lies
Categories:
griped, love,
Form:
Free verse
You entered my life when yours seemed grim,
affected lonesome heart on a chancy whim.
Weak and sick, you fought to justly live,
knowing indeed, you had loads of loyalty to give.
Wiry - thick- gray mane crowned your debonair grace,
accenting strength and slenderness to your youthful face.
Fourteen years you honored our humble abode,
strutting whole backyard, showing off what you owned.
Age griped your lean physique, riddled your body and soul,
deep down inside, I knew it was your moment to go.
One night you slipped away in the moon-less dark,
took my love - my first feline - but left your mark.
My sweet Simon - my Sam Bo, appeared by either name,
when you adorned my home, my life has not been the same…
Copyright © 2016 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Second Place Winner ~ "I Love My Pets” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Feb. 18, 2016
1/20/16
Categories:
griped, cat, love,
Form:
Couplet
My sergeant said you've been trained well you know what to do
Your assignment an ambush, do not return until the sky is blue.
We gathered our weapons and lots of ammo
And waited till dark then said he it’s time to go.
We set-up behind a Pagoda in a cemetery
Surrounded by graves, it was kinda scary.
There in Vietnam overlooking an open field.
I sat and waited; on my lap an M-15 I yield.
In slow degrees though silent, the hours passed;
In the darkness my fear has yet to be surpassed.
It stated to rain obstructing my field of vision
I said a prayer; it was a time of deep contrition
In those clamorous moment before blood and death
I closed my eyes, lifted my head and took a deep breath.
Behind the Pagoda, the hour drew near.
I looked at my buddy's eyes filled with fear.
Before I knew it his M-60 let loose
There were so many it wasn’t hard to choose.
In all of those moments as the bullets flew,
The fear of death it griped, it grew!
There was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.
Still we remained instilled with Marine Corps pride.
The exchange of fire ended and my buddy fell dead.
I looked up to God and silently plead.
I saw the carnage, quivered and trembled in silent rage.
No time for sorrow, for the enemy we'll still engage
I sought the sunshine through bloodstained eyes.
I knew that in war we cannot compromise.
I sniffed the damp soil, decaying and pungent with leafy mold.
At eighteen my buddy laid dead, a life story never to be told.
I soughtGod's mercy to easy my guilt.
Pierced to its poisonous hilt.
With dark vague eyes I started to cry.
I held his hand and said my last good bye.
I felt deserted I wanting to go home.
For me--farthest from deaths port to roam.
For in this darkness I silently grieve
And sought I comfort to relieve
The worth of that, is that which it contains
Where a bullet-riddled pagoda still remains.
Categories:
griped, death, death of a
Form:
Rhyme
Boiled in international broth
soiled by an internal sloth
emphasizing the epiphany
gorged by an internal gluttony
salivating a want to succeed
griped by an internal greed
creative moments of clarity
enveloped by an internal envy
triumph built on trust
lynched by an internal lust
paved to form a new path
wasted by an internal wrath
collective thoughts collide
pilloried by an internal pride
Categories:
griped, life, political, social
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
For twelve long years it was back to school
To make sure I didn’t grow up a fool
Learning how to read a book, do a cipher
At times I felt like a prisoner … a lifer!
I griped and groaned will it never end
In adulthood I realized it was a godsend,
Not only did I gain skills for my lifetime
Along the way, in school, I learned to rhyme.
Now, at eighty, I remember hardly a thing
But, believe it or not, I still have my class ring!
And I remember some awesome educators
Who were clever to squelch the instigators,
Giving us the skills we kids would most need
Teaching us to be followers; also, how to lead.
Today’s children will face many challenges,
But like most of us were, they are sponges.
They will become tomorrow’s successes,
And this is just one of my better guesses.
Written August 20, 2022
Submitted to "Back to School" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Categories:
griped, appreciation, education, school, success,
Form:
Rhyme
A pain of word
A read of eyes
Face griped
Categories:
griped, sorrow,
Form:
Haiku
My son’s name is Dylan, was country raised
in the hills of Wyoming where cattle graze,
helped on the ranch, but never felt fulfilled,
hated his hometown as teens often will.
But he ‘did his time’ until graduation,
went to college clear across the nation,
said by the best companies he’d be employed,
that he’d die rather than be a cowboy.
Now obviously this didn’t please me,
but I waved it off, he was but nineteen,
he immersed into college as young folks do,
bought into all the leftist clap-trap to.
He though protesting would do the trick,
solve everything he found ‘problematic,’
started smoking weed, raved ’bout ‘the man,’
even griped to me that you can’t ‘own land.’
Wouldn’t celebrate Christmas when he came home,
kept spouting slogans that just make you groan,
I sent him to learn, but he just annoyed,
he’d be better off had he stayed a cowboy.
Then he graduated to the real world,
employers cared not for protesting churls,
only got hired by a coffee shop,
where he contracted the damn hipster rot.
Pretentious preening, loved the obscure,
wore the strange clothes to show he was ‘pure,’
disparaged most music, such a killjoy,
he though that was better than a cowboy?
Even that was not his greatest mistake,
Hipster progressed into full-blown snowflake!
If you didn’t conform you deserved hate,
which he wrote up in online click-bait.
Harassed advertisers to silence ‘bad’ views,
your freedom meant nothing, he knew ‘the truth,’
any awful tactic he would deploy,
hard to believe he’d ever been a cowboy.
But minds in their twenties often are blind,
and Dylan’s allies came for him in time,
he said a ‘wrong’ word, took out of context,
before he could speak up his career was wrecked.
With no options left, he traveled back here,
I put him to work riding with the steers,
his sadness was heavy, his pride devoid
at the thought of becoming a cowboy...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
griped, change, growing up, growth,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
A most unlikely, mismatched pair
For forty years did breakfast share.
Their names were Stretch, at eight feet tall,
And Squat, built like a bowling ball.
Because of their unique physiques,
By people they were labeled freaks.
Though of each other less than fond,
They formed a necessary bond.
Rejected by society,
Their morning meal soon came to be
A welcome rite for lonely lives
Bereft of children, friends, and wives.
As company they filled a need,
But often griped and disagreed.
For common interests had they few
And discontentment slowly grew.
Unknown is how it came about,
But then one day a fight broke out.
Their broken dishes on the floor,
The aging duo went to war.
"I'll squash you like a bug," roared Stretch.
"I'm sick of you, you little lech!"
"I'll cut you down to size," screeched Squat.
"You're dumb and dull, you snotty sot!"
Then Squat did run and taunt and bite
And throw at Stretch with all his might.
And Stretch did kick and curse and swat,
Determined to demolish Squat.
Avoiding Squat's erratic throws,
Stretch swung but missed the midget's nose.
Attempting to stomp Squat in vain,
He felt severe arthritic pain.
While dodging Stretch's errant blows,
Squat tried to crush the giant's toes.
And speeding to bite Stretch's knees,
His asthma made him gasp and wheeze.
It was a most unseemly sight,
A feckless geriatric fight.
Before one minute had elapsed,
The spent combatants both collapsed.
When he arose and left, said Stretch,
"Tomorrow doughnuts I will fetch."
Departing, too, responded Squat,
"And I'll prepare the coffee pot."
Categories:
griped, anger, conflict, forgiveness, friendship,
Form:
Narrative
RAPE ON SONGHAI
Washington, Washington, their Washington
With a great hot flaming phallus in hand
Griped so tight, knuckles turn pale
You shield it up with the hood of this new religion
And thrust hard, deep, tearing Songhai’s hymen
This rape of dignity and pride, she breeds
You told Africa; Man, I come to circumcise
He closed his eyes to the pain, you castrate him
The hurtful ******* baptism of allegiance
Now, his sex starved Nimpho wives turn whores for you
Him no more but a Eunuch attending your models
Yet, you come back to a breeding Songhai
Have you no shame left in your dangling scrotum
Or you are again moved by your evil lustful greed?
Clam your laps and cover your thicket thighs
Use these black shrubs and hide your nudity
This Washington Devil has gone nuts with lust
Take your shame and cover your bare ****
He is cunning, will even pluck your ****
His phallus is hot with flames, can only sheathe
Thro’ your valley of juices, block your pots
Washington, please, hook your religion between your laps
Can’t you see she is in pains of your civilization
And breeding from the wounds your democracy inflicts
When your huge phallus tore her vagina walls?
Categories:
griped, political,
Form:
Free verse
That kind of thing really griped his soul
Meenie ate cookies smuggled from my bowl
Sullivan sighed a little
He was so sick and brittle
Whittled himself down to size with a howl
Categories:
griped, fun,
Form:
Limerick
December 14th a cold evil wind was in Play…
From what had started to be a most beautiful day.
It struck at the heart of Newtown, Connecticut
Twenty children and seven adults were struck.
The families grieve as the horror unfolded.
A nation also grieves and mourns with all those souls.
Candles will be lit, in vigils for all those slain.
No one will forget there were twenty-seven names.
Heroes, first responders, the news of the day…
Can never bring back what has gone away.
Tears and sadness have griped us all in their hands.
We hold our dear loved ones, as together we stand.
Children taken from loved ones… to angels they go.
Sadness and tears, laid many a strong one low.
We pray to God to now protect them in heaven above.
As we sit here weeping, candle in hand, for all those loved.
………….
Echoes of voices on a playground flow
Families now childless with no where to go
Children torn from their families, now angels bestowed
Teachers and Principals followed as heroes, they strode
Oh God, we feel so alone as church bells toll
It could have been ours, which death stole
Lives have been shattered by the mentally ill
Were guns the cause? We’ll debate still
Disbelief turned to grief for those left behind
Tears from a nation as hands intertwined
Vigils with candles, as a nation knows no one can win
Stuffed animals are left as grief settles in,
A biter pill to see the destruction inflicted
It doesn’t come with answers and can’t be predicted
Only tearful cries as the lost are interned
As we await the next event to turn
Categories:
griped, death, fear, funeral, loss,
Form:
'Twas time once again to saddle up for the annual world tour,
Another flying trip around the earth that they must again endure!
"I'm a-gittin' too old fer this flyin' business!" declared Prancer!
"That fat old man is sure gittin' a burden to tote!" exclaimed Dancer!
"The old man gets the treats - all we git is oats!" grumbled Vixen!
"And them lazy elves load the sleigh far too full!" griped Blitzen!
Donner complained about that upstart Rudolph with the shiny nose!
Dasher agreed, "Yeah! He's Santa's pet and that ever'one knows!"
Comet avowed, "Why don't that old poop let us fly the jet stream?"
"I'm quittin' after this ride!" said Cupid. "He just makes me steam!"
They complained about the cold weather and landing on slippery roofs,
Ice forming on their antlers and the fear of breaking their delicate hoofs!
Jouluupukki and the other elves waved and cheered as they flew away,
With sacks of dollies, trucks, bikes and coal overloaded on the sleigh!
The only thing the grumpy reindeer considered their greatest joys,
Was the privilege of delivering good cheer to all the little girls and boys!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Categories:
griped, christmas, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Once in a vision, a raging storm roars
I was slightly above it, soaring through the air
The waves were boisterous , the waves were a raging inferno
Fear griped me, it whispered death into my ear
I struggled to fly, the devil’s exploring sly
In the flight I saw a glorious light above me then
Suddenly, in my flight I heard a voice
It was one of the Archbishop Nicholas Duncan William’s
The voice thundereth, a kind that scattereth
“According as His Divine Power”
For the first time the voice held me in His care
It brought me into comfort, a Zion fort
Imbued with power in the flight, I begin to soar into the night
The voice made me strong, I lay upon it all night long
The voice whispered courage in me in that perilous flight
And bore me on eagle’s wings when all was quite
“The voice of the Lord is Powerful
The voice of the Lord is full of Majesty
The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars of Lebanon”- Ps 29:4-5
Categories:
griped, bible, christian, inspiration, jesus,
Form:
Free verse