Best Harmlessly Poems
They burst forth and charge downwards
Matching uniforms shiny against the grey sky
Their only desire to smash suicidally upon our ranks
We hear the thunder of them coming, and carefully prepare
The vanguard already lie smashed upon the ground
The rest will soon swell the regiments of the defeated
Moments before they arrive we deploy our umbrellas
Countless warriors smash harmlessly inches above our heads
Their watery remains dripping from our defences
Mingling with those of their already fallen brethren
Contest : FALL YOUR CHOICE any theme/any form max 12 lines
Honorable Mention
III.
But I had a much higher purpose now,
damned or not, I would serve the True God,
for thirty years I served with my brothers,
upon a humble path I faithfully trod.
Maybe I wasn’t a miracle worker,
though I saved lost pilgrims in my time,
age etched lines in my brothers’ faces,
but it had no effect upon mine.
The abbot swore newcomers to secrecy
about the truth of my vampiric fate,
and I guess I believed I’d just go on
serving an eternity in this way.
But one day as the sun started to set,
I looked out upon a terrible sight:
A small girl running, screaming in fear
as a wolf closed on in for a bite.
I hesitated for just a moment,
the sun was high enough that I would burn,
but the terrified cries of a five-year old
were not something from which I could turn.
I sprinted out with unnatural speed,
instantly my skin erupted in flames,
raced past the girl, thrust my burning hand
to the wolf with jaws of snapping rage.
The fire seared both myself and the beast,
with frantic yelps of pain he then ran off,
I staggered back, my pale skin burned to black,
bits of flesh had flaked off and were lost.
I made it back to the small gatehouse
and I collapsed in the shadows within,
the abbot ran close, with my fading strength
I weakly tried to say goodbye to him.
But he just looked down, said,”We need blood.
Run to the chapel and fetch me the wine!”
A brother raced off, returned with the jug,
made no sense to my greatly pained mind.
He filled a chalice, look to the Heavens,
said,”Lord, I know that I am no priest.
But if he must die, let him drink of Your blood,
let him take part at last in Your mercy.”
I felt this would be a fitting way to die,
burned by the holy blood of my Lord.
But when I drank I did not feel the fire,
in fact I didn’t feel pain anymore!
I didn’t see it myself, but they say
that the charred skin beat a fast retreat,
and through the haze I managed to feel
a deep breath and a steady heart-beat!
When I sat up the sun came through a window
and it fell harmlessly upon my skin,
I felt true hunger, thirty years overdue,
by His power I once more was human!
They said In Him All Things Are Possible,
and I suppose I am the living truth,
strangest of all I still looked a young man,
blessed with the power and passion of youth...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
'Course as a grim teller of tall tales,
(albeit poetic) reasonable rhyming
quasi roundelay I readily admitted to feign
cuz, stringing words together with
pride and prejudice plus
sense and sensibility, jocularity,
and conformity I dissed deign
(spoiler alert) iamb, trochaic,
dactylic, and anapestic metrical reign
jest your ordinary garden variety
dollar short day late dime a dozen
penniless citizen banker Abel and Cain,
yet mine mean mien blithely, daringly,
fatuously, ludicrously, nauseatingly,
pretentiously playfully urbane
many (if not all readers)
will coon sitter
yours truly harmlessly insane,
whose feeble attempts
to wax and wane
oft times falls flat (splat goes Matt)
as if dropped out plane,
without a parachute
instantly recuperating while lain
supine (winded, but...
none the worse) asthma brain
suffers concussion, confusion, contusion
actually, immediately, and unexpectedly
knocked fluent German speaking ability
within germane guy verständlich?
If ye really comprehend
trademark non Turkish gobbledygook
then explain (using
language of least familiarity),
but best to commence
with eye catching hook
impossible mission
apt lit pupils (mine)
to evade even momentarily
riveting, spellbinding,
and transfixing look
courtesy ingenious way
with word ye snook
cored me and took
wind out my sails.
Nor could I breakaway courtesy automobile,
cuz 2009 Hyundai Sonata
would not start... yea for real,
thus finding me ready to yoke
neck (think gibbet) each heel
dangling as body goes limp
blessedly, finally, happily
ridding me of any/all hangups,
one less goo goo gaga born this way
poker face cards for him to deal.
UNGABLUZUM describes this schlemiel!
Most restful sleep since... being in utero
Courtesy restless leg syndrome
spouse called me expletive rat fink
ousted me out the bed with plink
as lovely bones almost got extinct,
whence consoled self singing ditty
Skidamarink a-dink a-dink
makeshift burrow of pillows nsync
shuteye analogous to grateful dead,
Elysian Fields I did drink
yours truly fast asleep
found repose within eyeblink
awoke rested minus
knotted knobs entire body kink
metaphorical twisted human pretzel,
yours truly did not shrink
though disabled to walk,
hence mobility regressed
circumscribing me ambulatory
range to crawl and slink,
no matter paralyzed
(albeit temporarily), I think
above mentioned rectifies
Quandary whereat legs
shimmy and shake
keeping the missus awake
she requires daily at least
twenty four hours
of beauty rest to slake
lest she renders me into
chopped liver and/
or skewered beefcake
nuttin I divulge "fake,"
courtesy this corny flake,
who years gone by
a scoundrel and rake
straying against marital fidelity
triggering psychological earthquake
present crisis pits less at stake,
thus forgive wordplay
much more age
appropriate than pattycake,
perhaps slight hyperbole
thee only literary gambit
up figurative sleeve,
me ain't no magician,
nor gifted with holiness
able to walk across lake
thus harmlessly,
kiddingly, purposelessly...
cavort, frolick,
before darkness, when I
unduly forced to betake
self and disappear hoping the morrow
will find most bushy tailed wideawake.
The air is crisp, cold weather
that you can sink your teeth into.
It's midwinter with a brief break
between rainy weather fronts.
My fat limping dog and I have
got to get out of the house and
find some wildness.
He lets me know of his happiness
and I ignore his comment about hypocrites
as I put his leash on and
he drags me down the trail.
"How will we ever find wildness
under these conditions?"
he barks at me.
"Maybe this time boss?
Maybe this time you will let go?"
We walk down the trail by
the storm swollen stream and
hear the same question posed in the air.
The storm stream tries hard to break free
and wreck havoc, but,
the well engineered cement banks
give it nothing to grab hold of and it
careens on past to the sea, harmlessly.
The river's only hope to spread wildness
is another storm to raise its banks.
The grass above the banks is all of a kind,
easily mowed, and no threat to the asphalt
path we walk.
There is some hope of wildness
in the windblown debris
left over from the storm.
Perhaps seeds of a hardier folk
will move in among the grasses and
the perfect line of trees
that border the trail.
Such strangers will have to hide
and take cover before the caretakers
of the trail arrive tomorrow.
They will efficiently find all wildness
from the storm and make sure that
it is all discarded and hauled to the dump.
Perhaps I am looking for nature
in all the wrong places.
Here it has been collared and leashed
and rendered docile.
Still it fights back.
My hopeful dog directs my attention to the stream
and points to an otter that sinks when I look.
"Maybe this time, boss?" he implores.
Overhead, three noisy geese, free as you please,
as insolent as if they were twenty,
announce their imminent landing
at the county water control pond.
Not all of us are on a leash yet.
a heart made out of everlasting ice.
fiercely ferocious claws scratch and scrape at his iron like scales.
a streaming battle cry from behind him.
soldiers fleeing as soon as they meet his gaze.
one stayed.
he swung his sword mightily .
but with one swipe from the slippery tongue of the dragon.
was enough to send him flying.
his glare looked as if the ice dragon was on fire.
with all his might he thrust his dagger.
but it shattered harmlessly into millions of shards against the ice dragons back
Rust ate away the Tin Man's heart,
but I never stopped loving.
After abandoning me, who wouldn't
need a wizard's magic to restore
some semblance of feeling?
Loving me was like loving a tin can:
I always had something to offer.
Loving him was no more than loving tin foil:
he crumpled from every wifely demand.
After passion had worn out his iron cock,
he marched into the woods -- as he fled,
my desperate words flung from a resolute mouth
bounced harmlessly off an impenetrable backside.
I cried, threw things, carried on for days,
but nothing flipped the switch in his mind.
[The robot was intent on leaving me.]
So alone as I was, I did not regret my actions:
I sold that bastard's heart to a junkyard.
This poem appears online at Words are a Need.
http://wordsareaneed.blogspot.com/2014/07/married-to-tin-man.html
for no fault of mine, congenital blindness has been my lot
i never fail to wonder how i look
mum said i'm blond and beautiful
till date what blonde means still beats me
i can only imagine the meaning of beauty
i've learnt to endure the ridicule of people
who only add pain to an already wounded soul
it also hurts when i'm pitied
with my sister-in-law a constant culprit
the clergyman said my handicap is a blessing
that it's good i can’t see a world so sinful
but he failed to reply when i harmlessly asked
if he had ever prayed to lose his vision
my family even consider me a burden
complains and excuses trail my request for whom to guide me
to put an end to my inconsiderate disruption of their movies
they did me the favour of buying a guide dog
the sighted make much fuss over trivialities
can you imagine crying over a missed movie
or threatening suicide if not allowed access to the television
sometimes i itch to know the big deal about television
but television is strictly for those that are blessed with vision
so is tourism, movies and countless others
i long to be a medical doctor
and also to get married and have my own children
but understandably, men refuse to look my way
i'm now used to the bitter truth
dreams and wishes are not for the sightless
my thumbs are always sore ‘cos i love to read
and it hurts too when my siblings yell excitedly
'bout the scenic sights they behold
oh, how i wish for a day of sight
to behold the rainbow, flowers and mother
to see myself and my dear Stevie Wonder
music is therapeutic to my soul
oh, its the best gift to mankind
though the deaf will definitely disagree
have you ever wondered how life will be without hope
but i live without a hope of regaining my sight
while people sleep, i wish for death
but of course wishes are not for the blind
and unlike those cowards i'll never kill myself
i laugh when the sighted complain of penury
or when they make much fuss over needing a wheelchair
i'll gladly exchange conditions with them if given a choice
'cos the sun never rises in the world of the blind
the need for air differentiates the blind from a corpse
however i've got a few consolations
i'll never get to see an ugly sight or a dead man
i'll never see my husband cheat on me
sadly though, that's if i ever get one
Everywhere it soaks and seeps collecting
more as it journeys to destination
starting life as a single water drop
this life giving fluid of such sweet nectar
Seeming coloured one moment clear the next
we give it such little thought as we pass
maybe we reflect stirred by a lake
for a few moments struck by its beauty
We moan when it is wet, even more when dry
cry when in rage it floods causing havoc
one drop by itself harmlessly benign
joined together such a powerful force
Water without whom there would be no life
each drop a sacred blessing from above
purifying and cleansing as it passes
on its eternal and endless journey
I was obviously hiding under a rock
Out in the hills
Amid my animals and gardens
Happily and merrily going harmlessly on my way
When the great cancellation began
And suddenly every slight innuendo and reference
To some historical moment
A moment which could possibly have offended
And caused great hurtful harm
To those so inclined
Was deemed hateful
Instead of just ignorant or silly, funny or crude
At first in my oblivion I didn’t take it seriously
It didn’t seem like my battle to fight
But you know, hate is just the child
Of fear
And fear can get a society to agree to anything
(10/28/24)
Steamy windows, sticky fingers,
nothing ventured, nothing gained,
drapes are open, quite the floor show,
naughty boy, she's got him trained.
They are primed, she strokes her body,
sweaty palms and velvet skin,
anticipation is the trigger,
ejaculation is the sin.
But is it really sin, or pleasure?
satisfaction's guaranteed
as the goal of each performer,
gratifying primal need.
At the end two kinds of fluid
spatters harmlessly in hand,
secret hunger, public promise,
perpetrators, just as planned.
Man loves man
Man helps, and cares of man
Man wishes and prays for man
Man does these for human betterment,
I don’t negate these but say for some reasons
I see what man does well for man
Man gets that instant hand in hand.
Again, man hates, envies man,
Man is hostile to man limitlessly
Man plots against man silently or openly,
Man exercises black arts to harm man
Yet man is not satisfied; so man
Has invented modern weapons to kill man
Mainly, mercilessly, brutally and entirely,
Yet man is not satisfied; so man
Is practising the science of destruction,
To destroy all ins and outs and
To be superhuman man is practising
The science of superpower to gain all
Wasting a vast amount of wealth playfully;
When a group of people without basic needs
Are living a miserable, inferior, inhuman life.
Another group to whom wealth is subjective
Without rules and regulations living a sinful
Which is to them called a luxurious, pompous,
Carefree, heavenly, ever happy, plentiful life.
I don’t deny man’s well side of inventions
For those civilization has much advanced,
Again for the bad side of inventions and
The science of ruin we are losing everything,
Our beautiful world is getting unsuitable
For us and for our future generations,
The wheels of good cycle are almost stopped
And all that bad ones are geared up to speed.
May man get new ways and means to live
Rationally, peacefully, perfectly and harmlessly
Without hatred, enmity, envy for anybody
Wishing real and every triumph for humanity
To avoid sinking down into the centuries
Fathomless sea of chaos and vulnerabilities.
(buzzfeeding, kickstarting, needling darn noggin)
An effort to recall word, phrase,
musician... indigenous tribe...
most frustrating literary
endeavor to das scribe
aggravating enough to sub
bourbon spur teetotaler to imbibe
and/or nsync, whereby soul searching
devil's advocate demands bribe.
Lil brokeback Engelbert Humperdinck
(born Arnold George Dorsey) bent edict coercion
(think sexual mores)
scaring stripes off blushing zebra
bunched unencumbered vice pliable straw
aforementioned pablum admittedly "fake"
birthed within cerebral tenderloin
of impractical joker,
whereby fifty plus shades
of gray matter (mine)
chafed and rubbed raw
prevarication playfully did overdraw
and tax poetic license writ courtesy this paw
poor putz offal declension
sprouted within mum maw
noun tent to verb (bull eyes - red) to draw
flak, but merely to harmlessly entertain
so accept apologies (mine)
verses calling strong (lanced) arm of law.
I (garden variety poetaster) reckon fair game
media personalities grist for rumor mill, though lame
explanation given (funny first and surname)
adopted by supposed "finest middle-of-the-road
balladeers around," who co opted his stage name
from authentic Engelbert Humperdinck; selfsame
prodigy circa 1 September 1854 –
27 September 1921
German composer, who wrote, I gently exclaim
the opera Hansel and Gretel - a Grimm fairytale
actually frightful saga - read countless times
setting me boyhood imagination aflame
with mailer daemons, who haunted dreams
(mine) 'course in retrospect material tame
compared/contrasted with current pandemic
analogous as if mother Earth -
a metaphorical dame
experiencing long overdue reprieve, cuz shame
on *****sapiens belching pollutants
at any price to garner fortune and fame.
Siege warfare (trumpeting)
average joe biden his time
linkedin with aberrant behavior
transpires within me mind,
(not just today December 5th, 2020,
but everyday/365)
warrants depleting stockpile arsenal
constituting exhausting mental health
uprooting deep seated repellent pesky
daunting lost cause.
Overruled by irrational thoughts,
I feebly muster a lame duck
half quacked comeback
(think home team cheering at pep rally)
against analogous figurative agents provocateur
said nemesis bore down hard
upon sense and sense abilities
mine psyche undergoing
blistering, hectoring withering, et cetera
courtesy ghost of Emily Brontë
mailer daemons flitting to and fro,
hither and yon within wuthering heights.
Another necessity Emma gin)
awoke prided prejudice
to confront head on
beastie boy foo fighting (Irish,
no matter genealogy regarding
yours truly Eastern European)
mine talking head housing
private insane asylum.
Incomprehensible thought processes
chronically spin out of control
dictate mandate NOT to wash hair
until at least one week passage of time,
(an arbitrarily chosen number
i.e. seven days convenient block)
even if appearance looks unkempt, slovenly
grungy, et cetera as nirvana seeking guy.
Thus, I readily admit self held hostage,
whereby loopy thought provoking patterns
hopelessly, grimly, futilely find me surrendering
NEVER eradicating down battened ramparts
neurotic, lunatic approved, idiotic
mind mental chattering
babbling jabbering gibberish
housing concocted village people
dead set against shampooing oily locks.
Quite a tussle (think metaphorical hair pulling)
ensues within me scrambled noggin,
whereby pathetic psychotic pummeling
win knows scrimmage
scoring touchdown amidst
teaming muted brouhaha
allowing, enabling, and providing
harmlessly insane nettlesome
pesky skewed notions
ridiculous leeway to predominate
until yours truly USDA
qualified, hashtagged, certified...
as grateful dead among human league.
Silence.
For over thirty years he longed for a night free from the snoring that her sinuses caused.
Foolishly, he thought he could sleep much better if the grating sound did not echo in his ears.
Now he lies restlessly, unable to sleep in the silence.
Darkness.
The pillow he often placed over his head to muffle the sounds coming from the other side of
the bed,
Also helped shield his eyes from the glow emitted from the nightlight she could not sleep
without.
Now he lies anxiously in the darkness with the unplugged light laying harmlessly on her bed
stand.
Unencumbered.
His uncontrollable habit of wiggling his foot at night, which helped him fall asleep,
He consciously had been suppressing because the motion bothered her rest.
Now, free to wiggle in the empty bed, he lied motionless, too tired to move.
How he longed to hear the snoring he once thought he detested.
How he wished he could gaze upon the outline of her sleeping body in the shadows cast by
the nightlight.
How he desired to feel her elbow poke him in the side to still his gyrating foot.
The silence; the darkness; the freedom to move;
What he once considered long lost friends were now his enemies.
The sleep lost due to the sounds, the light and the restrictions on movement were a small
price to pay for having her by his side.
Now that he is free to sleep in peace – he cannot.
He misses her too much and the pain in his heart will prevent a restful sleep for a long time
to come.