Best Harassed Poems
Piano music plays.
Soft notes emote mid air,
like tear-stung doves they fly
in atmosphere of fog.
The clouds, they shroud the sky.
Piano music plays,
the keys, they seize my blues—
the depth of blue, so vast.
Poetic ivories
harassed… recite the past.
Piano music plays.
Dull echoes haunt the halls,
sonatas without soul.
Since wick and flame lost light
my space inside like coal.
Piano music plays,
the white noise like a ghost.
My fluid fingers mourn
in melodies of you —
the thorns on rose reborn.
We loved the lollipops, cracker jacks, and Holloway candy sticks. We adored the chocolate-coated ice cream bars and the tootsie rolls.
We could not get enough of pop sickles, cool aids, and soda pops.
We sang a love song saying, “Ice cream, soda water, cream on top, tell me the name of your sweetheart”. We had the best-tasting cookies and cigarette candies that eyes had ever seen. We were just poor kids in America’s poorest state, but no kids were sweeter than us. Hot as fire, hassled and harassed by humidity and drops of sweat; but we were sweet, not from
our good-natured personalities but from the sweets that we ate.
Life was hard in my little Mississippi Delta town; But somewhere between hard work and chores; between feeding the chickens and the cows; between feeding the goats and the hogs; between watching TV and doing homework;
between the sun ups and the Sundowns; and between the dawn and the dust;
Yes, in between, we found time to play. Most times we were okay, didn’t go astray, and had lots of fun in the barns, playing in the hay.
We rolled rubber tires like we were driving fast cars; laughed out loud as we sucked whining balls. Money was always lacking, but we did our share of licking, chewing, and sucking the sweet stuff. We bought a lot for the few pennies, nickels, and dimes that we had. We could buy our treats cheaply back then. So, we did our best to stay sweet, chewing bubble gum filled with sugar. We didn’t have a care and learned how to share, and the sweet stuff was always there. 013008PSContest, Childlike Fun, Caren Krutsinger, 2P
When my muse ruled
my conscience's compass,
waterfalls of rhyming rivers
revealed unspoken secrets -
long forgotten in my heart.
Exposing vulnerable verses
from vaults where vines
had wrapped my tongue
into subdued silence.
In the Injustices of
judicial juxtaposition,
speech spoke in a
paradoxical oxymoron -
'deafening silence'
Pouring in drops of crimson,
I became a convicted cliché,
taken hostage in a
Machiavellian marketplace,
where I felt illiterate - harassed,
by insidious guards and
anapestic gangsters.
In the personification
of confinement,
where word weavers
are poetically unapologetic,
virtual villains ventured
to plagiarize my vocabulary.
An enjambment of envious
eyes attempted to burn
my anthology of alliterations,
so I buried each chapter
in a communal garden,
under a galaxy of ghazals,
hoping pantoum petals,
would bloom in scarlet
stanzas with sophisticated
syllables of rhythmic refrains.
Agitated by
artificial assonance,
my artistry is an
analogy of angst,
where cathartic couplets
of consistent consonance
care not for iambic ideologies.
My elusive elegy is the
legacy of my resistance,
as in my melancholy,
I'll forever be a
misunderstood metaphor.
Silencing intrusive ink,
to prevent another massacre.
With no concern for applause,
I've removed the
garlands of sakura chains.
For I'm no longer a
prisoner of poetry,
but my muse's musk
still remains....
I know I’ve made a thousand journeys,
withstood the tests of time and foe
shed the dust and shouldered worries
struggled onward against the flow.
Unconforming, seldom bending
straight the path I ever took.
Challenge was my unending passion
contradiction I forsook.
I’ve battled tempests ‘fore and ‘hind me,
I’ve seen the devil at my heels.
Seldom knowing what lay before me
never knowing how respite feels.
I’ve seen the Valkyries and Forty Furies
their mazy circles in the sky,
taunting, haunting, ever daunting
beckoning from their aeries high.
I’ve crossed the searing sands of Gobi
and scaled Himalaya’s rocky tors,
badlands, wastelands all behind me,
walked upon the Seven shores.
I’ve gazed upon the Northern Lights
and seen the Southern Cross at sea.
I’ve traveled east and journeyed west,
no home or kindred claiming me.
No ebb of tide did succor bring me,
no place of solace ever found
but grappled fiercely all that challenged,
gaining purchase on the ground.
I rose against what life beset me
with courage the gruel for my soul,
hampered, harassed, never emptied,
firm and resolute toward my goal.
But it’s finished now, I’ve done my part
and I’ve left nothing uncompleted.
No looking back, no ruing thoughts
all my convictions undefeated.
And now I’m on that final journey
through all meridians of time and space,
with hope to meet the God that gave me
aeonian fortitude to run the race.
© August, 2015
You walk through the metal detector
You look at me with a deep seated scorn
You loath that I made you remove your stuff
You had to take off your shoes belt and jewelry
You’re thinking “I’m no criminal or terrorist so why me”
I am only doing the job the government requires of me
I am not the reason you are harassed and had to partially strip
I do empathize with you seeing I have to do the same thing too
No one cares that I am a Screening Officer I am searched when I travel
The government says what’s good for the goose is good for the gander
You want to get mad at someone then look in the right direction
The ones who blatantly took the lives of our families and friends
Who took the choice of traveling to most places away forever
Who took the privilege of carrying most things on board away
The freedom to travel with our liquids and gels peanut butter and jam
Don’t blame me because I am risking my life to keep you safe
Don’t blame me for someone not caring about your fate
Don’t blame me for what Mr. Harper and Mr. Obama says
Or for what the UK says is their Standard Operating Procedures (SOP)
Don’t blame me I am just the messenger that holds many lives in my hand
If love is a game I need a referee
If sex is a game I want instant re-play
I played the game of life but fouled out
Life stinks (Forgot to take a shower his morning)
Just my luck, life was but a dream and my alarm went off
Does a bear sh-t in the woods? (Don't think Polar Bears do)
When pigs fly, my windshield's in BIG trouble
The egg came before the chicken but some fool sat on it
I want to fly like an eagle but I have a fear of heights
NEVER venture outdoors when it's raining cats and dogs
Maggots began the tradition of getting married in June
She told me to go fly a kite but the take-off was rather chaotic
Two neighbors gossiped over an electric fence and were shocked at the news
If you need someone to lean on make sure they don't have Vertigo
A new cemetery employee is often assigned to the graveyard shift
A harried and harassed mother accidentally threw the bath water out with the baby
Due to inflation, every time it rains it rains, quarters from heaven
I took the money and ran but ran into an old friend...
Before me, faces wear an angry stare,
and chills now travel up and down my spine.
Transfixed, immobile, my eyes soon declare
the people there had surely crossed death's line.
Those faces, I have seen back in my past;
an EMT, I watched them pronounced dead.
My tension grows, tormented and harassed,
by visions that appear outside my head.
They point their fingers, and I know not why.
I feel accused and crouch down to the floor,
fast shut my eyes, as if they would comply
to go away; then open- there are more.
Hallucinations- now they come with ease-
my mind- possessed by Parkinson's disease.
From cracks above, lightning explodes
A deranged sea rattling the mast;
Hanging on between life and doom
My fate near water’s rim, harassed
When darkness hides the palest star.
Just then, a silhouette appears
Long the tresses, eyes deeply creamed
Ready to meet the tempest’s dare…
In one bolt, a ship wreck redeemed
Calming the dread upon my face.
Against a current's dauntless reel,
The buoyant glide of milder waves
Recedes through siren’s drawl that lures,
That an angry gust now behaves
As she steers me ashore, then leaves.
I wake to feel a heady scent
Recalling tastes of Galene’s night,
Until dream-catcher’s web unfolds
To snap me back from fancy’s flight…
Yet in my head, her mystique heaves.
...........
Rob Carmack's Dream Contest
4/23/2015
Galene—Greek goddess of calm seas
The moon was peeking through the naked trees
The breeze that blew that day had gone to bed
A lonely nightingale perched overhead
Harassed the silence with his sad reprise
The creaking porch swing's old familiar tune
No fitting lyrics could I ever write
To my sweet love on this warm firefly night
The melancholic song I'd never croon
Ten trillion stars, a shimmering chemise
Which cloaked the sky in sparkles green and red
Connected by the rays of golden thread
How could one tire, admiring nights like these?
Upon magnolia trees, blossoms were strewn
The nightingale heard his call and took flight
I might sit here until the morning light
Like days of old, these nights would make us swoon
I believe
Because I don’t know
I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west
I know spring follows summer
Summer follows autumn
Then winter
But do I know God exists?
No, I don’t
That's why I believe
Why do you believe?
Because it gives me hope
It gives me strength
To march on with my life
My mother believed
She lost first three babies
Even before they could walk and talk
During WWII
She lost her son when he was 15
He volunteered to join Japanese army
To save his father from prison
After the war he came home injured
And died a year later
After liberation from Japan
His oldest son was labelled a communist
In the democratic south
Police harrased her
Day and night
'Where is your son hiding?'
'I don't know, Sir'
Was her only reply
During the Korean War
She saw her husband walking away
Between two soldiers
Never to return
All through her married years
She was harassed by Japanese police
Harassed by North Korean soldiers
Harassed by South Korean police
But she marched on
With her head straight
Her heart in compassion
She prayed without ceasing
Asking God for strength
To march on with her travails
She lived to ninety two long years
And left this world
With smile on her face
Tomorrow it will be your turn.
Your turn to be beaten.
To get bruised.
To bleed.
Because you are wrong.
The wrong sex.
The wrong color.
Just wrong.
Tomorrow is your turn.
Your turn to be mocked.
To be shamed.
Because of how you look.
...or don't look.
To be harassed.
To be chastened and disowned.
By everyone you love.
Because of who you love.
...or don't love.
Tomorrow is your turn.
Your turn to lose:
Your job.
Your house.
Your dignity.
Your turn to beg and be ignored.
Because of what you wear.
...or don't wear.
Where you live.
...or don't live.
Tomorrow is coming.
And it will be your turn.
Your turn to get the letters.
The ones that tell you to die.
To kill yourself.
Because of who you are.
...or aren't.
Not because of anything you've chosen.
Not anything you've done.
...or not done.
Just because it's your turn.
And as bad as tomorrow is going to be
For you.
For others,
Tomorrow is just a repeat of today.
(This is a fictional poem)
Last year my friend was being sexually harassed.
Every time his boss saw him, she pinched his ___.
She thought she'd get away with it because he was a man.
She intended to make him her love toy, that was her plan.
That perverted lady made my friend strip.
Every time they went on a business trip.
I decided to tell his wife what was going on.
She grabbed her mower but not to mow the lawn.
She ran the mower over that lady's face, it was the most horrible thing I'd ever seen.
Now that ***** makes the bride of frankenstein look like a beauty queen.
That lady may have or may not have deserved what she got.
If you're considering harassing my friend, you'd better not.
This place has become a safe haven and refuge
in these trying times.
I come here, and I'm able to laugh in spite
all of the chaos happening worldwide.
I find strength when I feel weak.
I find encouragement when I'm feeling down.
I find inspiration in something much bigger
than me.
So when I come here and see people getting
bullied and harassed, I have a problem with
that.
It ticks me off; we have too much crap going
on outside.
Listen up; we all have opinions that differ from
others. SO WHAT.
It doesn't give you the right to bully or insult
anyone.
Can you please do me a favor and keep your
mouth closed.
This is not the place for unnecessary drama.
At the end of the day, it's all about poetry;
Anything else that happens from a shared
love and appreciation for poetry is a bonus.
Alexis Y.
02/6/2021
On my walk the other day once again in the early morn
I realized the shoes I’m wearing are the only shoes I’ve ever worn.
I’ve never walked in a Native American’s shoes…never felt the back of America’s hand
as the ones who came here after me threw me off my land.
I have never worn the shoes of an immigrant…never felt their sorrow or their strife
having to leave a country they love…to search for a better life.
I’ve never walked in a black person’s shoes…never worried in my daily nine to five…
never wondered as I started my day….if I would make it home alive.…
I have never walked in a woman’s shoes…I’ve never been downcast
at being paid less for doing the same job as a man…
I’ve never been sexually assaulted or harassed.
I’ve never walked in a poor person’s shoes
never braved the winter cold or summer heat
without a house to call my own…without enough food to eat.
I’ve never walked in a gay or lesbian’s shoes…never felt societies shove
just because they see me as different…just because of who I love.
I’ve never walked in a Muslim’s shoes…never thought I would see the day
people wanted me out of this country…just because of the way I pray.
I never walked in a policeman’s or a soldier’s shoes
Never felt their fear, their pain, their strife…
I’ve never had anyone shoot at me
never feared for my well being or life
Yes, my shoes have been quite comfortable…every shoe I’ve ever bought
but that doesn’t mean I don’t listen to the voices of the people whose shoes are not.
So I will use my vote…I will raise my voice
I will stand behind…or in a protest line
working and praying for the day everyone’s shoes
are as comfortable as mine.
The Angel
Heart of Peace
In the hills and glens of the Bosnian homelands
Roamed the Serbian chetniks, with swords of the devil
In the name of nationalism
Raping and killing, burning and pillaging
Their aggressions they called it defending
Carkic the rapist of all of humanity
Drank himself to a stupor
To hide his soul from his very own gods
As he burned the villages, children and all
How can such evil stand so tall?
From the ruble of hate, and Serbian addictions
There rises an angel from the concentration camps
Malice none, for her heart is filled with compassion
She listens to the victims, her kindness is her fashion
Esmuda Mujagic, content to build bridges to rainbows true
She is an angel of inspirations
Asking only for warmth for the victims of torture
No reprise is sought, only admissions of truth
So through forgiveness, life can mend and flourish
Instead arrested and harassed
The soldiers of Serbia, still carrying on