Best Gruffly Poems
The black wall reflected my white-washed skin
and disheveled jacket, above the chattering din...
Loosly lopsided glasses hang limply on my face,
Cold, dark, black, they somehow seemed to fit this place.
The smooth memorial seemed to stretch on,
Longer than death itself;a banner, a chord, an unsung hero's song.
...
Memories race through my unsettled mind,
The dense rainforest reverberates right behind...
Exploding artillery, I see several comrades fall down.
They lay moaning or silently still on the densely foliaged ground.
Like tin soldiers, “Playing dead,” I force myself to believe
Trying to dam the tide of fear, for death is all I see.
“Will, help!" a young and bloodied soldier calls to me.
Hands gruffly grabbed my shoulder; I meet my commander’s steely eyes,
Torn, bruised, and bloody... I could see he wasn't surprised.
“We won’t survive with extra baggage. Retreat to the copter, now!”
He hollered hollowly, his featured in a ragged, downcast bow.
Pondering quickly: Die a hero? Or forever regret today?
Without a hesitation, I hoisted that young man up right away.
He seemed light, until I picked up another, fallen on the beaten path.
The odds were all against me; flying bullets unfurled their wrath.
Lifting yet another, I wrapped him silently around my tired arm.
The day I died, two comarades were saved and taken away from harm.
...
And for a single breathless moment, I thought that I had seen myself,
In the teary-eyed man reading these lost names all by himself.
Now and forever, my name will be a simple written sprawl.
An etching in a stone, a memoir to this black unyielding wall.
Beth Watkins
3/7/11
~Dedicated to those heroes who have died to defend our freedom.~
A short Note for You
This is a little missive written in some haste as we have
to go back to hospital for more tests. Only you could get
me there and wait 4 hours in a packed waiting room.
Time is tough for those who have no private health insurance
and most of us have not. I tell you about the inequity of this,
but you are not listening just look through magazines like
“HALLO” touched by a million sick people.
When we finally get to see the specialist, a woman of around
45, I tell her lies about my splendid health, but you are there
and tell her the truth. I insist I’m ok and want to go home.
Ignored by two women I agree to go back to hospital one more
time about a bloody pacemaker, I gruffly leave for a coffee.
But I’m glad you are there looking after me, I always knew how
much I loved you, as long as you don’t tell me how to drive my car.
Delicate, fragile
secreted away beneath your beautiful bract
always hiding from the world
you live in a dream shared only by you
alone, lonely
but better alone then afraid
better alone then dejected
better alone then hurt
shrouded in your cloak of royal color,
you feel invisible, protected
but I see you
I see your heart, warm and full
fringed in frail lace, sweet and gentle
guileless and open
your fragility defines you, so trusting you are,
yet allowing you to so easily be broken
and I have broken you
you trusting me to be gentle, to understand you, your needs
and me, insensitive, demanding
gruffly pushing past your leaves of green then purple
my movements careless and awkward
stripped from you your gentle flower, white and pure
gone forever
but perhaps in time trust will return and another will grow,
again, hidden away beneath your loving bracts,
and replace your broken heart
with the beauty that so fills you.
05/01/15
An Ogre is mean, an Ogre is ugly
An Ogre is smelly, grumpy and gruffly.
They are so big they can block out the sun
If you ever do hear one it's better to run.
Some want to eat you or keep you as slaves
Others will make you clean their old caves.
Apart from Serog who has never been mean
He is good, kind and friendly and only fifteen.
Wise for his age and peaceful is he
Has many friends including a bee.
But didn't like the meanness he saw
So set about to make kindness a law.
Meetings were held and letters were wrote
Hoping to persuade each Ogre to vote.
Niceness was shown and what kindness can do
Towards people, an a Ogre, an a reader (that's you)
Each Ogre was shown how to smile, but that took a while
Because it's never been their natural style.
They learnt how to be helpful, gentle and careful
And started to feel better and therefore successful.
An Ogre is friendly an Ogre is fine
An Ogre can smile and even queue in a line.
An Ogre won't eat you they now eat their greens
But an Ogre can be windy after eating baked beans.
Contest Name Writing Challenge 'O' Words
Sponsor Constance La France
24.03.23
There once was a poet who screeched like a monkey
Belligerent cuss and stubborn as a donkey
Was quite disputatious
Boringly vexatious
In fact, I'd be inclined to label him a bit wonky
Others have mentioned he's much too bodacious
Unyielding when he's wrong, gruffly tenacious
Liked to spit and spatter
Madder than the Hatter
Victimized fine poets and fiercely predacious
One should wonder if his mental wiring was loose
Because his ranting insults were bitterly profuse
Drivel and poppycock
Game hen liked to squawk
Lacking discernment and most definitely obtuse
Such a devious plan we concocted one day.
Kind of mischievous in an ornery way.
The goal was to throw an innocent curve,
knock people off the routine that they serve.
We showed up early to church that morning,
with no indication, without prior warning.
Some surely thought we had set our clocks wrong.
We’d never shown up before the first song.
The early-to-risers were there hanging out.
No clue what our sinister scheme was about.
We brought doughnuts to share in reception hall,
a diversionary tactic that served as a stall.
It worked to perfection, they didn’t even know.
We ran to the sanctuary and filled the back row.
A peace calmed the room, as we eagerly waited.
A family connection was somehow created.
They came in together, the back-row-brigade,
bewildered to discover the prank we had played.
The looks on their faces was priceless to see.
How could this happen? How could this be?
Glancing around, with their smiles now erased,
they weighed their dilemma, feeling displaced.
“They’ve taken our seats,” one gruffly replied,
as they shuffled back out to regroup and decide.
We burst out laughing over what we had done,
then moved up one row after having our fun.
As they sauntered back in, to their cheerful delight,
somehow the world had again been made right.
Sliding into the row, one leaned up and said,
“Thank you for putting that thought in our head.
We've taken for granted our comfortable place.
God wants us moving and sharing His grace.”
Our newfound friends still claim the back pew.
At times we bring doughnuts, to see what they’ll do.
What started as a joke was a blessing in disguise,
the Sunday we took the back-row by surprise.
The Back row Conspiracy, was the brainchild of my wacky youth leader, Mont Toon. His
unusual ways had a way of drawing kids in, then showing them the way. I’m not sure where
I’d have been without his influence. I’m sure he’s stirring up something in heaven at this
moment.
He told me without so much as a flutter of the eye that he was on the river by all accounts alone.Picking and eating the dew berries growing along the fence row that bordered the woods.Eating to satisfaction he meandered down
towards the river .He was a boy of ten farting around on the sand bars ,looking to see what the river had washed up.As he walked to the edge feeling secure as he had been here ,done this, numerous times the sand without so much as a hoarse whisper of warning gave way.
His swimming skills basic at best he thrashed
In the water for what seemed like three eternities
realizing he was making no headway to the safety of terra firma.The next moment a large hand roughly grabbed him by the arm hauling him ashore.
Looking into the eyes of this old man ,a
man in his seventies he felt a feeling of familiarity."Get on home",the only words the old man gruffly
spoke.Taking a sip of his coffee he leveled his
gaze across the table to my waiting eyes."I see that
Old man each morning when I shave", he quietly said."I travelled back in time to haul me out of that river."
I didn't know what to say.So I said nothing. We sat finishing our coffee talking about how
The cardinals were playing and other ordinary
things.
I think about that conversation often.The way he
told it to me with no effort to sell me anything.It was almost as if he was pondering aloud as he no
doubt had silently from the first glimpse ,the first notion that old man in the mirror looked oddly
familiar.Strikingly so.
There is so much we cannot comprehend.So many
aspects of this space time continuum we call life
that baffle the greatest minds.Time.Space.Physics.
We are just children playing universe.
The bible says if we live to eternity we would just
be touching the fringes of His ways.Makes me want to be there.Makes me want to see more.
Black balloons on the gate,
The sky so dark and cloudy.
Dad hadn’t wanted us out late,
But we begged quite loudly.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words just an expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
A door with cobweb festoons,
The man and woman are scary;
They wear skeletal costumes,
And scruffy white wigs so hairy.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words an easy expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
“Trick!” the answer is a shock.
They chase to the cemetery,
We try hide 'hind some rock;
Crouching low and all wary.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words were an expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
Thunder cracks behind our backs,
Neighbourhood dogs go howl.
“I wanna home,” my sister hacks.
“Shush now,” I gruffly scowl.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words only an expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
“Hey,” Dad was tall and adult,
Shining torch beam like a sword,
Chasing away creatures occult,
Making our fears shadows ignored.
I became Debra Joan at the age of six
Formerly known as Debbi Jo
Up until then that's what I'd know
Something my new parents thought they'd fix
Adopted then and a bit confused
I wasn't quite sure of who I was
A tender kid I cried because
I did not like this name they used
As I grew older I came to know
My first two names meant lots of trouble
I had to come running on the double
And the name sure wasn't Debbi Jo
Debra Joan was used so gruffly
Meaning I'd done something bad
I'd displeased my mom and dad
And I would sure be dealt with roughly
But then I learned something in school
That my name Debra meant"the bee"
And a prophetess of Israeli degree
This knowledge I thought was pretty cool
So I began to enjoy my name
Didn't mind losing my previous one
That name I'd had when I'd first begun
For the person I was remained the same
** for contest "What's In A Name"
sponsored by Linda-Marie-Sweetheart of PS
Spartan
Some men are born to play,
and some… are not.
To them life is without common joy,
at least the kind others partake.
But it is instead more tempered with
the metal of red blood;
courage, bravery, loyalty, tenacity!
Laughter abounds when their families are safe.
Love for their women, their children…
Time for their friends, their communities,
And above all…
their God.
Yet stirred to need, the winds of war…
Call their names… all of them.
They gather young and old, every man fierce.
Ready to die, before they lifted their sword.
Ready to give without… reserve.
No question as to how or when… only who…
The enemies that dare to come against wolves?
Children born for no other reason than to protect and serve.
Gather…beware…
The enemies that compare themselves to real men, willing to kill?
Have no true idea of what is coming…
The commander calls, loudly, gruffly…
“Here we fight and here we die, and then we live forever!”
(the men cheer loudly, pounding their mighty spears against their shields)
Then he faced the darkness.
“Know this… scourge and scum of the earth…
Our God, our country, our families… our dogs…
Will celebrate on your graves, and dance into the night!”
Carved in stone;
No retreat…
Surrender is not a word.
We have Cousins Camp in Kansas City in the summer.
Any grandchildren who cannot come, says, “That’s a bummer!”
One year I let four of the bigs fill a garbage can up with water.
Each jumped in their own “foxhole” and played throw water balloons at each other.
We decided to paint the garage walls up and down with beautiful cartoons.
Making a delightful experience to remember for many moons.
The dog and cat were both in hiding, almost every day of camp.
The music was on volume high, I couldn’t for sure say what amp.
They laughed and cried, and fought, and yelled, and gruffly wolf-howled at the moon
My husband wondered when they were going, it would not be so soon.
They tie-dyed shirts, took off their clothes, chalked the garage, and learned to sew.
Grandpa came out and yelled, “Please Stop! Cease! Desist, Go on home, and Whoa!”
He got slathered with wet garbage can balls, for his trouble, which sent him back inside.
He and the dog and cat, and every creature with smarts, were doing their best to hide.
We had laughed ourselves silly as we threw gigantic and enormously wet water balls at his head.
By the time we crept back into the house through the sliders, he was fast asleep and we were ready for bed.
How offensive that must’ve felt!
I’m seated after having said this in bewailment like an ox
Not thinking of the grandeur but of her buttocks
Gloriously, as an ambler, I lift the embargo on this thought
Not letting myself to be aghast at the sight of it but almost orgiastic
Don’t judge, don’t jump the gun, as it is all onomastic!
Stop sucking on this life’s debris like Cleopatra while tormenting her men
It just happened that I disrupted my benevolence, infuriated
Like a militant tumour that marches through a brain engaged in flagellate
Like a Parisian who did not have time to enjoy his glass of wine
When an image of Darwinian-Judeo-Christianity arose as a subset of sexuality!
Or, to be frank, as the moment I exude the last drop of piety before my Harlot.
Whatever it takes, and as degenerative as any revolution
Or as imaginative as any repressive fiction of elementary metaphors
Whatever it takes, in this character of aggression
Even if you consult your palmistry experiences cloaked in panic and objection
As peremptory as it may sound, this isn’t a sonnet of subsequent lucidity,
But an ode to a virago of the Amazonian substance and the Socratesian integrity.
I am not going to abort anything that may appal nor will I
Strain at a gnat and swallow a camel!
Oh, my Command-Dante, here I come,
Interwoven in the postures of the nudity seen in Medici Chapel
Inflexible as Colossus, said I gruffly while holding a horn
Almost with this mercurial temperament that creates a moon man
Exuberant in the moments of severe solitude
Supported and loved perhaps only by a claque of virtual entities
That never existed but were a part of an imaginative huffiness, Trumpian like!
Give me the Tardis and without a sign of hesitation I will pick Hellenic Egypt
To be able to hedonistically squander every natural law,
Bright or bleak in an image of a modern freak.
I often feel that my life was raped by a not so courteous, not so kind circumstance.
(to be continued...)
The first poem I posted on Soup. One of the first 200 poems I deleted. I found a rough copy in an old scribble book.
Hardware Blues.
My dad he went down fighting, to keep his local hardware store
But the big boys took his customers and the bank said “Shut the door”.
He had sales and cut-price specials and bargains galore,
He thought and thought of ways that he could do more.
He opened the store all day and half the night to suffice
But Bunnings told their customers “We will cut his price”
Well its sad to say but working in his store has been no fun for me.
I will be glad to look for work elsewhere and glad to say I’m free.
I am quite convinced that in a hardware store there is no place
For a genteel and rather shy, member of the female race.
Men would come in asking for objects that I found quite obscene,
For example I was asked “Where would a bloke find a ball pein?”
Another walked up to me and gave me quite a shock
As he informed me that he desperately needed a plumber’s cock.
Yet another quite nice gentleman assumed that I knew
On what shelf he would find a tool to drive a screw.
I had to inform one man that he needed a pet shop for his pet
When he told me it was a Rover jumper that he needed to get
A man came in one day who had quite a stammer
I was sure I heard him wrong when he asked for a Bi hex spanner
One man became quite forceful and nearly made me sob
When he insisted that I must know where was a plumb rule and Bob !
Requests for a Tongue and groove, Pump plier, a Mortar pan and a Fitting tool
Put me in a quandary and made me feel quite the fool
Once a lady was in the store. I was pleased until she asked for a toilet brush
I admit that even asking for such a simple item as this had made me blush
A guy that barked out gruffly “Spirit Level !” brought me to my lowest point.
MY spirit was at its lowest ebb and I am glad I no longer work in this joint.
We sit in the forest, admiring the trees, my dog and I.
The roosters behind us are in full racket form.
A dog barks, gruffly and hoarsely.
My dog does not look up.
I have stacked the pile high
Every box has blue tape or a black curvy arrow
Twenty-nine Amazon boxes,
Broken down, sitting askew in my fire pit.
I see a bit of smoke.
Hear a subtle pop.
A whirl of gray smoke begins to emerge from the top of the pile.
She will soon be a rip roaring bonfire.
With intense smacking noises, and a savage fierceness
She is beginning to make her fire sounds now
The flames are rising into the air
The most beautiful orange and black dance
With gray highlights begins
I smile as she jumps up to meet the air in waves.
We soar together, the fire, the dog, and I.
The wind that was undetected a few minutes ago
Is moving around quickly and abruptly now.
I move my chairs three times to get out of her smoky way
She jumps up with happy delight every time
I shovel a bag of dry leaves into the fray
I look down once, to see if she missed my clothes.
Expecting to have to drop and roll.
Disappointed that I do not have to.
The dog and I are silent, reverent, as we
Listen to her chew the leaves up with loud smacking happy sounds.
She is a small volcano now, popping and cracking her way
Through undistinguishable leaf piles.
The smoke is spiraling in a gentle wave
Smoke is in my nostrils
The savageness begins
The pyro side of me smiles
The impatient side jumps out of the chair
And heads toward the pyre with match in tow
We light three more boxes
We want our bonfire now.
She does not disappoint.
I, Too, Sing America (and did so in my diapers!)
by Michael R. Burch
I, too, served my country,
first as a tyke, then as a toddler, later as a rambunctious boy,
growing up on military bases around the world,
making friends only to leave them,
saluting the flag through veils of tears,
time and time again ...
In defense of my country,
I too did my awesome duty –
cursing the Communists,
confronting Them in backyard battles where They slunk around disguised as my sniggling Sisters,
while always demonstrating the immense courage
to start my small life over and over again
whenever Uncle Sam called ...
Building and rebuilding my shattered psyche,
such as it was,
dealing with PTSD (preschool traumatic stress disorder)
without the adornments of medals, ribbons or epaulets,
serving without pay,
following my father’s gruffly barked orders,
however ill-advised ...
A true warrior!
Will you salute me?
I hope my “small” attempt at humor will help readers remember the sacrifices made by the spouses, children and extended families of our valiant servicemen and women. It was not easy making friends only to lose them, time and time again, as I grew up a “military brat” on American air bases around the globe. I really did make sacrifices for my country, while winning every battle against the “communists” in our back yard.
Keywords/Tags: Memorial Day, military brat, service, war, duty, honor, heroism, soldiers, army, navy, air force, marines, child, childhood, children