Best Hackneyed Poems
He climbs up rhythmically
keeping his legs
within a ring of rope
like his life.
Intuition assures
the ripeness;
life-nut falls down
from the tree top.
Just a slip
will end in all end,
but practice
rarely slips.
Though the ways are hackneyed,
he’s honeyed and free
under his calluses.
Morrows and yesterdays,
he never climbs upon.
He hugs today, green and yellow
like the coconut tree leaves.
Categories:
hackneyed, life,
Form:
Free verse
"Why is it", the donkey mused, "that horses get all the glory?
Seems throughout the ages its the same old hackneyed story.
We go unheralded and are treated with utter disdain,
While horses bear king and emperor about their vast domain!"
"Though we are somewhat ungainly and will never win a race,
We've born distinctive personages with extraordinary grace!
I'll tell you of unnamed heroes among our humble breed,
That will outshine the acclaim of any blue-blooded steed!"
"Mister Ed the talking horse has nothing on the donkey Balaam rode.
She saw an angel of the Lord in the way and promptly left the road!
Balaam cursed, the donkey talked some sass and was beaten thrice!
The angel was about to slay Balaam had he not heeded her advice!"
"A donkey was in the stable when the Prince of Peace was born.
Later to Egypt they fled - on a donkey Mary's Babe was borne.
For entry into Jerusalem, He chose a donkey, a borrowed one at that.
Hosanna! Hosanna! God's Son it was! There he regally sat!"
"We've had astride us preachers, desperados and hardy pioneers,
And have been accused of stubborness driving mankind to tears!
But when all is said and done, we provide reliable transportation,
Getting you slowly but safely to your ultimate destination!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
hackneyed, animalsangel, angel,
Form:
Rhyme
A spic and span barren bed,
soft pillow with blanket spread.
You're tired and bored, all hackneyed.
Ready to sleep, drop down dead.
But...a vigilant mind..alive in dread.
cacophony..chaos..thoughts unsaid.
Another sleepless night ahead?
Head and heart throbs, like burning cigarettes
Broken love haunts, rude taunts and threats.
Throttled throat breathes, playback cassetes.
Silent tears douse, debts and regrets.
There lies the pillow, waiting to get wet.
That pillow.....so much you miss ..
Where Santa hid .....those gifts of bliss.
An angel mom blew goodnight kiss.
The pillow fights of sweet reminisce.
Now all ruffled,.. restless,.. whimpers hiss
Somnolent sombre eyes,
in endless rhythm eulogize..
A Sleepless Lullaby....
Dawn bids night goodbye....
Categories:
hackneyed, bereavement, break up, depression,
Form:
Rhyme
Hey children! Listen, I miss your zeal.
The world inside your mobile is surreal.
Look up!
See, I have fixed stronger glasses on my windows,
Get hold of your cricket kit, come back on the street,
I miss watching your games.
I won’t mind, smash all my window panes.
Hackneyed messages,
Dollops of unalloyed twaddle
Tides of trifling emotions!
Baby! You are locked inside your mobile.
Look up!
See, the stadium looks so barren!
Without your mischiefs and fun,
Your irritating jibber- jabber and nonstop run.
I won’t mind, come on burst my eardrum.
Your friends, your pictures, games, tweets and stories
You live in a fantasy world, that’s absolutely unsavoury.
Step back into this beautiful life, create beautiful memories.
Look up!
Don’t waste your time and energy.
Live for a cause, get up and push back your lethargy.
Open the notebook of your life,
Fill it with love, fame and prosperity.
No matter what! You shall thrive.
Don’t be a slave to mobile,
Life isn’t a game!
Dear! You have to survive, mobiles exists just to give a little respite!
11/04/2019
Categories:
hackneyed, addiction, freedom,
Form:
Verse
there was the cynosure on your sky
you, the convergent point of poetry
I forgot to learn your all inner eye
and failed there to make Buddha tree
here, now, I’m to the hackneyed dark
a bearded holocaust bawl,
I’m to me- a fresh skeleton,
A barren bone of ravished love,
grey yard of withered diction,
the hemlock in dull speech,
caged phantom of prose
-March 06, 2019 Chattogram
Categories:
hackneyed, how i feel, self,
Form:
Free verse
“When the pen falls silent that once danced to the muse’s command and when the poet’s heart no longer beats with rhyme, we realize that the poet in us is dead. It is a sad truth difficult to reckon.” ~ By Poet
Far from the din of madding crowd,
And away from the bustle of city streets,
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verse ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking notes,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards –
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving bits of broken thoughts
I sallied out for a stunning theme,
And stroked my pen to put it down,
But topics eluded me one by one,
Unable to decide on what to dwell,
I rummaged my memory for apt words,
And dallied round with lofty themes
Yet nothing other than splintered thoughts,
And hackneyed phrases came alive.
I strained hard to give them life,
And labored in vain to make them rhyme,
‘The Blazing Sun’ and ‘the Brilliant Star’,
Both faded out with no trace of glow.
I envisioned before me the Sacred Mount,
To drink from the fountain gushing down,
But hot lava spurted out,
And the wings of fancy burnt outright!
No Muse appeared to enliven me,
Nor my fantasy lingered long,
The words that once flowed like honey
Dried up with no inspiration, coming to nourish.
Staring blank into the scroll in front,
Unable to scribble even a moving thought,
Like a soldier vanquished in war,
I put away my paper and pen.
I greatly lament the death of the poet in me,
And wonder if ever will have a rebirth!
Categories:
hackneyed, death, pain, poetess,
Form:
Elegy
Poetry time
Every line chimes
Stop on a dime
A buck for a rhyme
What’s a meta for
Similes are, like, a bore
A terzanelle’s attractive
Tho a villanelle’s more proactive
Witches vex trochaic pentameter
Curse iambic HEXameter
Traditionalists eschew free verse
Blank verse is that much worse…
Romance, a hackneyed chore
While humor is adored
Satire rates high too
Tear-jerkers ~ boo-hoo
Poetry time
Elbow grease and grime
Lines sparkle and shine
Craftsmanship sublime
Categories:
hackneyed, humor, inspirational, metaphor, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
You’ve given me a quilt, a pen, some inks, papers
You’ve given me a lonely night
You’ve given me a piece of silent on moonlight
You’ve given me a dark of alone owl
You’ve given me dawn of crow flying
You’ve given me a morning of a shining sun
You’ve given me a busy urbane life
You’ve given me a tiresome afternoon
You’ve given me dusty dusk with cattle of back to home
You’ve given me a lamp in the incessant sound of crickets
You’ve given me a radio with hackneyed news of politics, economics….etc
You’ve given me your graceful face
You’ve given me your full
You’ve given me my loneliness
Oh no! Yet; I’ve missed something!
I’ve missed something more than you!
As if I’ve missed everything!
Because you’ve not given me my poem
-March 24, 2019 Chattogram
Categories:
hackneyed, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
My land is culturally richest,
Yes not as bloody as canvased!
Purely we follow the same lord,
At same time we offer, so faith is restored!
Knotted in holy month to fast, all together,
In my home, religious values still haven’t blur!
So we speak different languages but,
The followers of same prophet!
And we have the different skin color,
Nationally but we are alike, greener!
In my home, hospitality for which people dote,
Nobly I say religion we culturally denote!
And the love imparted in closely knitted families
So rich, but live only under father’s monopolies!
I make hackneyed proclamation of beauty of my home,
Anchoring the same ship, we stand under the same dome!
Categories:
hackneyed, beautiful, community, dedication, pride,
Form:
Rhyme
Love poems, how trite they become.
Their hackneyed themes we want to scream.
We purposely shy away from
That genre, teeming so it seems
With grandiloquent, large supplies
Of conjured words with empty rings
Of cheating hearts and love that dies.
Ad nauseam is all it brings.
We wish just once that we could read
Where love’s expressed differently:
Brand new verses that supersede
Love’s banal themes in poetry.
Love-lost poems are sickening
But most of all they are boring.
Categories:
hackneyed, lost love, on writing
Form:
Rhyme
A bountiful bevy of beautiful birds flew by
Their soft and shining silhouettes eliciting a sigh
They dipped and dove and drew pictures in the air
That delightful , dazzling, December day so fair
The snow so softly settling on the sated ground
Cheeky, chattering, calling birds the only sound
Silvery shards of sunlight on the frozen lake
A perfect picture, now pleasured breathes I take
Nature can naturally nurture and nurse our soul
When hackneyed, harried days have taken their toll
For the Alliteration , Consonance, Assonance contest
Categories:
hackneyed, winter,
Form:
Couplet
Sub-atomic particles
the atoms they form
molecules, cell organelles
cells, machinery of life
organs, organisms
communities and ecosystems
planets, solar systems, galaxies
galactic clusters and their inverse
black holes the doors to other
universes, a contradiction
in terms.
For language and its shadow
consciousness must hold matter
the material world snugly inside concepts
theories and hypotheses to be
experimentally verified using vision
and the other senses, collecting data
and interpreting the known facts
accumulated over time.
Can matter
exist without a consciousness to behold it?
Believing in
our mortality (the species)
we have created God
(a supreme being)
probably not carbon-based
to encompass every universe
but is God
inside or outside
consciousness? Can God
tell us what to do
or must we tell God
alone
what to do?
Here is ego
projecting personality, exerting force
on community, asserting the existence
and predominance of component DNA.
An already hackneyed theory that DNA
survival drives
procreation, personality, savings bonds
everything but poetry (most poems included).
Mustache, cowboy hat
horse whisperer, gulag master
Odysseus, King Lear
salvation in the details.
Yes, these personalities individual and interesting
as opossum, bear
oak and ash
beech nut, pine cone
Grand Canyon sandstone, Green Mountain granite.
Categories:
hackneyed, community, earth, god, language,
Form:
Verse
Upon the flushing milieu of twilight,
Vague shadows of the ranch hands brook.
A proud slow march on hackneyed legs,
In the slow emergence of autumn’s dusk.
Today’s sullied labor grimes the worn denim chaps,
In the dawn to dusk harvest of the seasons haying.
An aching exhaustion on sweat muddied faces,
The price and the pride of the old rancher’s toils.
Barns piled high from the summers green fields,
The homestead prepares for the silver of winter.
Lost in the muted glow of sunset’s backdrop,
The prairie echoes thanks with a soft cowboy song.
Categories:
hackneyed, cowboy-western, happiness, inspirational, life,
Form:
Free verse
Some people are all Smartness;
Their brains are so convoluted
Under straight curves
Producing all kinds of trivialities
In hackneyed lines;
Darn, they are good!
Categories:
hackneyed, satire,
Form:
Concrete
When the rays of a small campfire ember
find its way to the depths of passion
sparking a heat so lustful it’s hard to remember-
A time we didn’t fuse, I lay.
As that ember dies in the moonlit sky
leaving shades of sweat upon the faintly
heard tussles of a trampled ground-
Hackneyed and abused, I stay.
For the fatigued water lays to salt
after the dew of a sunrise fog
choreographs beauty of love into our own-
We coalesce as one recused, I pray;
“Please don’t let go and I will fill the muddles
of darkness with magical flowing beams
through zealous tears that absorb the clouds
with hues of reverence both dull and bright”-
And simply refuse to breakaway.
Categories:
hackneyed, adventure, desire, for her,
Form:
Romanticism