Best Harangue Poems
...He reformed the routing patriots,
formed a line atop a rise, Perrine’s Hill,
brought in General Knox and the artillery,
commanding the mass through sheer force of will.
He needed to buy time for the main force
to march on and join up in the battle,
the British kept coming, soon to attack,
convinced they still had the patriots rattled.
Before in battle the Redcoats just had
to flash their bayonets in the bright sun,
that was enough to scare Continentals
and assure them the battle was won.
But they were no longer facing such men,
the Americans had learned Europe’s game,
they did not flee at the sight of steel,
gave hard volleys once the foe was in range.
Britain’s field commander, General Cornwallis,
made several attacks to break up the line,
only to run into fire and rage,
with his Redcoats turned back every time.
They he tried to turn Washington’s left flank,
the boldest maneuver of the fight yet,
but the main force had come, and pushed forwards,
striking hard under young Lafayette.
Seeing there would be no quick victory
the British withdrew there forces back,
both armies in defensive positions,
the fight would become a long slugging match.
Soldiers hunkered down as across the fields
artillery thundered and cut loose,
both sides trying to break up the other,
their foe’s ranks they sought hard to reduce.
The heat was such that many of the men,
suffered and even died from heat stroke!
One man passed out and his wife manned his gun,
fighting on alongside all the blokes.
Then Washington sent Nathaniel Green
with artillery up towards Comb’s Hill,
a high position on the British left,
from which the guns could enfilade and kill.
The British saw their hopeless position,
and quickly began an ordered retreat,
marching north towards Clinton’s main force,
having blown their opportunity.
Washington saw his enemy leaving,
and sent Mad Anthony Wayne forward,
to harangue the British as they marched off,
cutting down men despite their good order.
And through the battle ended as a draw,
for the nation it was victory,
they’d kept the field in an open battle,
and matched the Redcoats in soldiery.
This changed the calculus of the whole war,
all knew battles would be more costly now,
England would no longer campaign in the north,
hoping for easier prey down south…
THE MONSTER YOU DREAD
i can’t handle rejection,
the unhug of perfection.
a piercing scream of perplexion —
my complexion streaked
grouted and piqued.
i backhanded you by
closing the splintered door,
vainglorious to the core —
now you can’t see the open sore.
you never uncovered, never looked,
never came to find me, i’m overlooked.
hiding beneath the bed, i’m the monster
you dread — tear-salted tongue, the martyr
with claws tearing at my skin - my fear
that she sips her coffee carelessly - oh dear...
the suicidal stripes down my cheeks sear
as my mother wanders through her year.
if only a look, a hug, a kind word spoken
to me would tear me from this sea forsaken —
this torrent, harangue of waves, haplessly
dashing, against heart and soul. if only a creak,
a scintilla of light would peek into
my claustrophobic space, saving me from me.
but i, only i...must resolve, unhinge the lock,
step out and see the clearing of the crock...
all alone on my private island - its unsecured dock.
i pretend it never mattered but carry the doom
within my flesh, my invisible childhood looms.
ready at turn to rear its misshapen head, its claws
digging into a buried past — all my flaws...
jealousy pops up in the middle of my joy
i stomp the frenetic beast, clawing its face.
i refuse to be that monster, that disgrace!
6/14/2019
Move me Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Carefully coiffuring the etiquette garden of the cascading words
Trimming the elegant exuberant plethora of stumbling somnolent leaves
Happened upon an opulent slithering serpent and some bees
Hiding within the myriad of sublime transcendent trees
Shrieking in a shrill voice a cacophony was heard
And the shunned godly creature
Slithered serenely from the place of my obstreperous yells
And the words fell back into a peaceful tranquility and tune
Excusing the moments as serendipitous and absurd
But was harangue for no reason except tales of Slew (Foot)
And went about my business without any further adieu
Copyright
@Bonnie Gay Jennings, or Bonnie Jennings or Boondoggling with Bojenn @Wordpress 2013 to present 2016 ~
It’s in the dictionary: disambiguate.
It reminds me of Bush’s misrememberate,
a word that always makes me hyperventilate
and sometimes even makes me discombobulate.
They’re words for those who want to circumambulate
proven facts. Politicians overcompensate
with sesquipedalians to overcompensate
for ideas they’d rather not disambiguate.
They also tiptoe as they circumambulate,
or say, “Oh, I guess I must misremeberate.
That liberal press just makes me discombobulate
and more than once it’s made me hyperventilate.”
It is not abnormal to hyperventilate
when one’s stumped and trying to overcompensate
while working so hard not to discombobulate,
worried that someone’s going to disambiguate
his harangue. Then he’ll claim to misrememberate,
or convolute the truth and circumambulate
it if he can. If he can’t circumambulate
embarrassing stuff, he might hyperventilate,
which sometimes causes him to misrememberate
the lies he’s spewed. So then he’ll overcompensate
and slip in some truth that might disambiguate
the ambiguity and discombobulate
his campaign. Then his hopes to discombobulate
the electorate and to circumambulate
the truth will be dashed. If folks disambiguate
his thoughts, all he can do is hyperventilate,
although, he doesn’t want to overcompensate
and say he’s been known to misrememberate.
The admission that he might misrememberate
could lead voters to think he’ll discombobulate
under pressure. He’d rather overcompensate
by making up stuff that will circumambulate
the simple truth and make you hyperventilate
and just too distracted to disambiguate.
Politicians overcompensate, misrememberate.
If you disambiguate, they’ll circumambulate,
discombobulate and then hyperventilate.
The Truck Driver
By Elton Camp
Bruce had a job he wasn’t wild about.
He drove a big truck on a regular route.
Then on one fine summer day,
He stopped at a café on the way.
Bruce was sitting at the bar on a stool
Minding his business as was his rule.
On a cup of strong coffee he did sip.
So he’d stay alert for the long trip.
From the parking lot came a roar.
The sound the waitress did abhor.
“It’s that horrible motorcycle gang.
As always, I’m in for a harangue.”
Into the room they stalked with a smirk.
Each one appeared to be a dirty jerk.
Their cursing and sneering was a disgrace.
Each had a scraggly beard covering his face.
“Hello, baby, you cute little miss.
This time, how about a big kiss?”
Bruce looked the thug in the eye.
“A little courtesy you should try.”
The thug threw the coffee in his face.
“A little man like you is a disgrace.”
Bruce just calmly wiped the coffee away.
He went out the door with nothing to say.
To the waitress he spit, “Not much of a man, is he?
With that, even a **** like you will have to agree.”
“He’s not a very good driver I’d have to say.
He just crushed ten motorcycles on his way.”
Their population on the swell,
The local yokels just couldn't tell,
Why their isolated town called Bugaree,
Red dust and drought for all to see,
Was inundated by a city slicker hell.
You see,it was a radio man from 2CE
Using language bordering on thuggery,
Delivered such a terrible harangue,
Abusing listeners when they rang,
Had told everyone to go to buggery.
Mum’s courteous sprinkles denounced delusion cowardice.
And demented a destiny Willenhall to Bethlehem for life price.
But hallelujah brought my children forward for hallucination.
My partner mended her menopause to hale hammada action,
Harangue lumps machinations to overtrade a human slice.
Israel a stone heart land death flags a fear of attack or terrorism,
Lord Jesus Christ, a Jew, no Christian, who denied not spiritualism,
Jerusalem a market of God religions fried portions of innocence life,
A stone wall divided God’s death and birth in hands of criminalism.
How religions equal educationalist never spoke about are defaming crise?
My spirit walked with truth and faith to agree to pray for World Peace,
To plain problems to seed love and needs to iron religious crease,
The mountain of sands were pouring dishonesty and greed lees,
A sea is dying and remind ‘Death is certain’ Oh human why you tease?
One-ply, two-ply, three-ply, four:
Whether you are rich or poor,
This is something that you need.
Substitutes won’t do, agreed?
Extra soft or without rolls,
Every brand has matching goals –
Do the job and help us wipe.
We don’t need the extra hype!
One conundrum makes folks nuts;
They won’t stand ifs, ands or buts.
(Pun intended) – This harangue
Regards which way the roll should hang.
Is the next-to-follow strip
On the top for you to rip?
Or perhaps it’s lying under
Waiting to be torn asunder?
Everyone thinks his way’s best.
Please comply if you’re a guest.
When you’re on another’s bowl,
Use his method to unroll.
One last thing I’d like to mention –
This is one superb invention;
For without its grand debut,
I can think of one word – EEW!
July 31, 2012
Housemothers twain, swaddled in sorrel fur
And bustled skirts, walking ‘tween the parklands.
Brilliant cobalt sky, above cawing birds,
Who demand substance, with their harangue?
So the fostering queens proffer their alms.
The badelynge of ducks, on polished ice,
Lambently advance with feral affray.
As morsels of cardinal fare, entice.
The attending dames in their tender, urbane way,
Have rescued these birds from another wintry day.
Must I be a Premi'm Member…
To be a worthy contender?
Must my name be kissed by a star…
For my poems to travel far?
No cov'rage for me on FB?
Don't you think that makes me grumpy?
Right now my finances are tight
So I am stuck in this sorry plight
Thought my words had their own appeal
So I’m waiting to close this deal
Poetry Soup, you feed my soul
But exclusion's taking a toll
Won’t let the battle of the “views”
Compound my monetary blues
My bonus I'd earmarked for this
Got traded for my daughter’s kiss :)
She went abroad to find her dreams
More important to me that seems
The Star Membership will have to wait
Be patient…I’m just running late! :)
Visions Beyond the Horizon
The doctor incised the umbilical cord, the nurse held him by heel,
They waited; the baby cried not; the nurse nudged and he giggled;
The baby giggled again; new mom laughed; doctors just haggled;
The new age baby breathed normal; ancient medic annals to heal
Had no entries; baby crying on first breath norm, they had a ***** feel;
Like POTUS, medics threw up arms, helpless to his tantrum. Cuddled
By mom, he slept and giggled, never cried for milk. With heads muddled
They fiddled with the issue; he woke up giggling, laughing for family weal;
But it was strange, people thought it his harangue; he was deranged,
Some claimed. He crawled around sparring worries with laughing queries,
And it was strange, people thought. Their frowns chilled the entire loving bond,
And in expiation the mom showed the cradle, as they stood like dolls disarranged
In Walmart malls, waiting to be billed; the infant spoke, dispelling all their queries
And opened their minds; with closed eyes, they saw visions from horizons beyond!
Oh laggard maid, why do you
harangue the night with your longings
the void greets the multitudes
with the same ashen face.
Only the shades of fleeting joy
can brighten the monochrome
to the richness of sapphire
only bliss can brighten the or soften
the oceanic surge of night.
Oh recalcitrant mother, give way
let the waxing and waning moon
sooth the harshness of your all to human plight.
Let moonlight bathe pearl
the silken sheet of skin upon your out-turned limbs,
refresh the ruby red jewels of your parted lips.
For you are not alone, the stars of heaven
shine before and through your jet black eyes.
The angels wait and watch and croon of love.
Retrieve the youthful loves of yesteryear
to comfort and bless once again those loved so.
Oh aged crone, upon your bed of bone
fear not the coming of the night.
Recast your form in dreams once born
arise within the sacred fresco of burgeoning starlight.
Belay your tendency to rail
resist your anxiety and ease your weariness
within the fantasies of forward flight.
*dedicated to Cyndi MacMillion
Rile up the rifling rowdies
at the Red River rawhide rally
A new Mustang Sally came rip-roaring muscling in
from the lower Staten Island end of Stalingrad
Treachery forged American made profit wad
Wearing a commie armband,
purporting to be party repping
concerned Russian citizens
Whose sickle and hammer banner
is the sacred “Right to Bear Arms”
This appears to be quite duplicitous foul,
but no Second Amendment harm
Nary a single peep tweet harangue itch heard,
no tick-ticking trump false alarm
Not one cricket sound of a silent chirped word
Rhetorical rebuttals are on a verbal snooze,
POTUS is on a Love Boat pirate smooze
Using Alexandrian charm
and Torshin money laundered ant mandibles,
oligarches buy a Republican bite-size piece
of the NRA capitalist farm
Those loopy lobby duped sons of guns
will sell the hangman’s rigor mortis rope
that they’ll soon be swinging from
Such a sad, illegal traffic plight —
Serve them ultra-nationals right
to be privately tricked in plain sight
Let a little Soviet savvy spit salve
gleam the brandishing barrels bright
Invitation extended to the “good old boys” club
Purchase credit secret blended ...
trigger shout
some Badlands ruble noise with a lead nose snub
Rowdy Ruskies in the midst
of an all-American association rifle rally
Such a strange, strange sight:
Those duped sons of the gun
butt kissing their Politburo Putin pal-lies
The employee took out these pizzas and put them on desks at the hall. No sooner had the pizzas popped into the gofers' eyesights than seething salivas (imaginary or real) bursted out of their mouths, and subsequent scenes were a vivid illustration of how these mostly duplicitous gofers actually preferred adversaries' cold comfort to their own leader's hot air, exactly through their relinquishment of proper positions one after another in a short while. Miraculously, throughout the corridor, both up and down the stairs, all around the SCIF site, pervasive predominance was handed over by previous hustling, hectoring, harangue and huffishness to straightaway slurp, maundering, digression and dissipation.
Uptight mobile devices, boldly swayed and swirled by their respective handlers as flagrant confidentiality solicitors, shifted their universal characteristics from fussy flash and light to monotonous darkness and dormancy before slipping back into each pocket, together with carefully or cursorily recorded footages. The storm receded so fast that Hauptman Mutt Gaets could find favor with no timely niche to set in any redemptive steps. He turned to preparations for media slot instead, in hope of smoothing out the unanticipated anticlimax.
What Is Woke?
Miracle Man
3/13/2023
Say social awareness don’t give me “woke”,
I’m not impressed with one’s use of slang.
Perpetuating it’s use has made it a joke,
politicians use this word to deliver harangue.
Some think it’s impressive spewing woke
and think that it makes them some big deal.
But they remain in my eyes a solitary spoke,
and a solitary spoke doesn’t make a wheel.