Best Ill Bred Poems
When your heart
corresponds
with your mind,
then, give it a shot,
you write
back to me
what expressions
you so badly
need
to bleed;
the characterisation
of letters
are alphabet soup
to me, child's play,
peeling tattoos
like bells ringing
over a tongue
not speaking,
I swallow words
hungrily
then I spit them out,
bullets that pierce
a page,
bulls eyes
staring back
through the black holes,
the other silent horns,
all silently complicit
small missions
of truth
cornucopias,
wearing through
the thin fabric
of ludicrous
fantasy
feathers that fall
from soft pillows
quaking against
levees breaking
the barriers hitting marks
the sands of time broken,
river banks splitting,
the bodies drowned
and sucked up
like works of art
in a hyped up
Hieronymus Bosch,
if you are in deep
you can make sense
of it all,
you know you're in it,
that picture, way, way
up to your eyeballs
brushing against
all the others, removed,
flotsam and jetsam
in the wash, sensing
the path they all took,
but the mystery
of never quite knowing,
like a smell, pervades
charcoal tears
melt all the ways
a heart can be kicked
down and gutted
witnessed through
gilt edged windows
full and jaded
to a gate opening,
the sound cracking
like a mouth
terraforming
dustied and green
the shaman soul
found underneath
it all, humourously
rustling sage over
the external,
a serious novice
for burning
small
exorcisms
smoking out
renegades, those
stubborn seeds planted
in long spent sentences,
those true romantics,
the forgotten ill-bred,
well-tilled, rebel poets
small
exorcisms
for burning
Candide Diderot. ‘24
violins.
Categories:
ill bred, metaphor, mirror, poets,
Form:
Free verse
Daisy was such a bossy old cow,
one who desired to rule the herd.
Her opinions were so highbrow
the others dared not moo a word!
Daisy would moo and moo all day
whilst the others chewed their cud.
I dare not disclose the things she’d say
if amiable cows mated with the stud!
One day Daisy met up with the local bull
who really was a quite handsome chap.
She fluttered her lashes, being on the pull
but her constant sniping was a handicap!
He mated all others in the bovine brood
which put Daisy’s nose right out of joint.
He detested her for her rude attitude,
yet, she insisted on arguing the point!
Daisy was ill-bred and she’d never yield
so all the other cows chose to back away.
Bull turned on his hooves and left the field
leaving Daisy all on her own chewing hay!
Although Daisy was the farmer’s oldest
she was just as nasty as the farmer’s wife.
He complained the old cow was the coldest -
I wonder which of them caused more strife!
The farmer didn't suffer from guilt or derision
when the slaughtering man came into town.
He allowed the butcher to make the decision
as to which cantankerous cow he'd put down!
12/10/18
Categories:
ill bred, conflict, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Vultures feed off the dead,
therefore we are worried
seeing them overhead,
as fearful thought spirals,
hovering in our head.
Vultures feed off the dead,
so it’s time to reflect
on dark desires ill bred,
grown out of proportion,
since we’re by instincts led.
Vultures feed off the dead,
thus we must be a corpse,
roaming on earth with dread,
in bondage to desires,
whose roots in us have spread.
Vultures feed off the dead
but we’re soul eternal
refusing to be bled
by cravings of ego,
choosing God’s light instead.
03-July-2022
Categories:
ill bred, introspection, spiritual,
Form:
Monchielle Stanza
Goodness me, fiddle dee dee and la de dah
Mary turned into a black sheep, baa baa baa
That naughty little lamb
Has contrived a big scam
She's gone too far astray and has lost her way
Mary's been tinkering on an old fiddle
But she can't play worth a piddle or diddle
She's as crazy as a loon
Mind and fiddle outta tune
Even the cow can unravel this riddle
I heard about the guy, name of Jack Horner
Who hangs around the lamp post on the corner
Mary does his bidding
It's true. I'm not kidding
She didn't listen when I tried to warn her
What'd you plant in your garden, Mary Mary?
I heard smokin' it will make you quite merry
The feds have grown wise
To her innocent disguise
My goodness! She's become very contrary!
Mean ol' Mary dressed up as Little Bo Peep
To bully and mock the flock of grazing sheep
She is shamefully cruel
I'd meet her in a duel
To put an end to that mean-spirited creep
Last weekend she frightened Little Miss Muffet
Who was eating a light lunch on her tuffet
Munching her whey and curd
When Mary dropped a turd
Then ran off, telling Miss Muffet to stuff it!
What a fussy hellcat Mary has become
Her lies have people describing her as 'scum'
She's bonkers in the head
Obviously ill bred
and if you believe a word she says, you're dumb
Evil is a person who chases blind mice
But by now we all know Mary is not nice
She screamed at them, "Now run!"
Then shot 'em with her gun
One day that ghastly creature will pay the price
The Big Bad Wolf's a hero in Mary's thinking
Cuz he's dreadful to others without blinking
He was mean to two pigs
when he blew down their digs
Mary's just as horribly cruel, I'm thinking
Like Humpty Dumpty, who once sat on a wall
Mary's wicked ways will lead to her downfall
A powder keg's been lit
It will hurt quite a bit
But she's a bad egg who always starts a brawl
Categories:
ill bred, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
I looked up the word 'boor' in my Funk n' Wagnalls to verify the truth.
I found that, "A 'boor' is one who's ill-bred, crude and somewhat uncouth!"
I find boors obnoxious and inconsiderate jerks when they flaunt their gall!
Their disgusting, rude and churlish behavior nearly drives me up the wall!
I detest loud-mouthed youths (and adults) who I suppose vie for attention.
Their total lack of respect for anything is beyond my comprehension!
Their public display of putrid language is offensive to others' ears.
Free speech is fine but public vulgarity could be reined in, it appears!
My eyes glaze over when gasbags bore me with trivial conversation,
And don't get to the point and babble on and on without cessation!
In a fine cafe why don't boors stifle cell phones and let people dine in peace!
Their chattering is akin to a pair of magpies or a skein of honking geese!
Teenage boors practically make love in malls that is offensive to many others.
Aren't kiddies today taught be a bit more discreet by their pops and mothers?
They tote their boom boxes with 'music' blaring throughout the 'hood.
I'd like to tell them where they can shove those things if I legally could!
I loathe smart aleck boors who tailgate and impair my driving vision.
Don't they know this lack of common sense is apt to cause a collision?
I reckon I'd better wind this down and not bore with further dissertation,
But no doubt by now with boorish boors you can sense my frustration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 in Linda's "I'm Bored With_____" Contest - May 2011
Categories:
ill bred, funnyme,
Form:
Rhyme
The gods’ privilege is never to die,
the men’s tragedy is most die
at some point in time of their life’s cycle.
The gods’ tragedy is gods can never die,
the men’s privilege is to die when time comes.
Because of her beauty and a handful of dust she held in her palm
she won god’s favor and was granted the privilege to live forever,
nonetheless, it turned into misery to suffer forever,
she,(1) therefore, wrote on a golden leaf, “I want to die.”
The wish of a crafty king,(2) who is to roll a rock to the top of hill
over and over under god’s harsh punishment, is to let the rock down and die rather than to undergo eternal life’s never ending toil.
The agony of the god who descended to the earth,
because he wanted to share the warmth of the bonfire(3)
kept exclusively for gods to sit encircle it and enjoy,
with the men he love was he couldn’t die.
Whether it’s right or wrong, because he stole the fire,
he is chained to a rock at the mountain standing in the edge
of the world, incurring the ridicule of an ill-bred god(4)
who frequently comes in and out the thieves’ den
to plot together another theft from another victim they chose.
His liver is pecked by a fierce eagle every morning;
hence it would be better for him not to see the ever renewing
sun rise from other side of the mountain.
Although it’s miserable to suffer forever
because he cannot die, it’s far worse to see men’s betrayal.
Ungrateful men’s avarice, instead of co-existence in peace
they kill each other, oppress weak to hold power,
use the fire as the weapon of massacre.
Every morning with renewing sun
he has to endure worsening pain though,
he won’t understand what the desperate mean,
because he is a god.
Although he may able to bear excruciating pain,
he couldn’t endure men’s betrayal.
The mountain collapses, the chain breaks off.(5)
1. Cummaean Sibyl. 2. Sisyphus. 3. Prometheus. 4. Hermes. 5. Aeschylus. tr. Mueller, Carl R. Prometheus bound, last line (Pandemonium. The mountain collapses.) q.v. Bulfinch’s Mythology, Prometheus, pp. 939-40.
Categories:
ill bred, betrayal, death, fire, god,
Form:
Free verse
With my usual paucity of luck I was assigned to seat 34B.
I wanted to be left in peace but as you see, 'twas not to be.
The urchin sittin' behind me pitched a screamin' fit!
He kicked the back of my seat and his mom cared not a whit!
I got so angry that I could have thrown rocks at a hearse,
But as time flew on (so to speak) things got even worse.
The little old lady on my left babbled about her back operation.
The sot on my right snored in my ear without cessation.
He had bladder problems that caused him to climb over me,
To relieve himself of used beer in the restroom constantly!
The guy in front of me adjusted his seat creatin' a very small gap,
And in doin' so spilled my coffee from the tray all over my lap!
Sporadically, an inconsiderate, ill-bred jerk released odious gas.
I think next time I'll spend a few more bucks and travel first-class!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Categories:
ill bred, flying, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Armadillo
Armor placed upon a knighted
Rat, defender of the gold, not the
Man whose crown adorns it.
Addled pretender to the throne,
Dunce, in hidden jesters robe
Ill bred, ill tempered,
Lothario, pompous preening,
Lecherous serpent seeking
Only the safety of self.
For PD’s contest
Acrostic Time #1
7/3/2014
Categories:
ill bred, allegory,
Form:
Acrostic
With shouts of glee, twin hellions fled
across the park while I would tread
behind them. Always it was me
who had responsibility
of them, who acted so ill-bred.
They wouldn’t heed one word I said,
and I would watch them as they sped
on skateboards, weaving recklessly
with shouts of glee.
But then at night, with stories read,
they’d sleep like “princes” in their bed.
And Mom and Dad would both agree
they were so sweet. . . All I could see
were imps who’d wake to cause me dread
with shouts of glee!
April 19, 2022
For Regina McIntosh's Your Favorite Theme Poetry Contest
Categories:
ill bred, brother,
Form:
Rondeau
Broken Heart
I was standing right there in your corner
With you
With all the creepy cobwebs dangling and
The scary spiders lurking overhead.
I rubbed your back when you were
Feeling blue
And I stayed true.
It was my tears that fell to ease
Your pain
It was I who got soaked when you
Were caught out in
The rain
Time and again.
Now here I am standing in my corner
All alone
The tables have turned, my heart is sore
But I am facing the creepy spiders
On my own
And you are gone.
So many questions to ask you
Like why?
Where did you go, how could you leave me at this time
With no goodbye
Or even an ill-bred lie?
I know somewhere in this a valuable lesson
Is being taught
I know someday I'll learn it and accept that
We're apart
I know Time's practised hands will one day mend
My broken heart
And I'll make a fresh start.
Marj Bless
Categories:
ill bred, betrayal,
Form:
Rhyme
People are obedient to the power they serve
the source of all conflict and war works for the devil
No one in governmental positions ever calls for peace
they put sanctions on nations to fill their own ill bred pockets
we all can see clearly that greed plays its hand through bloodshed
Those old men sacrificing the young to do their dirty work
cowardly office boys sitting on their laurels hiding behind a desk
the mask has slipped revealing back stabbers
hiding behind a smoke screen the true origin sits
Pay the piper to play a different tune one with hope for the future
this destructive path the world is on is driven by fear
believing in something without evidence to back it up as existing
Slowly many will awaken to find it all is to late
when a majority can no longer be achieved without conflict
sad state of affairs as many have avoided learning
from the past mistakes tyrants and dictators work against God
Categories:
ill bred, anti bullying, bible, blessing,
Form:
Free verse
Bewail paltry ministry that gentle breeze ch aunt.
Impatience and dream hack milestone and whisper, a hailstorm of ornery ilk hum.
Go by the gentle breeze and bring hope.
Leif Leif kink lackey of milky joy.
Gently, gently, gentle breeze,
flag the rags on the meadow where you sleep
and declaim the meager ruddy leaves that ruin thee,
of immaculate mole illusory.
Gently, gently grip me,
or else thrash of licking whip.
Will bemoan laconically in our ill-bred head.
But still impede the witch-cash
with your gentle touch that comes from the measureless pretense of eve
like the halt of your gentle spoil that
Scour our coltish heart.
Categories:
ill bred, life,
Form:
An unsociable, ill bred, unrefined man.
And his captious, callous, long-suffering, old spirit.
Cadaverous and frail amidst the morning walk of thier land.
Wheezing from the years of cylinder embers burnt in hand.
His quivering digits, gesturing openly to his coat pocket.
As he stops to gaze and take in, the wide open grand.
He pulls out a letter, kept in form by a dark green signet.
And now slowly he begins to unroll the leaflet.
Replaced by the paper now, are the open fields.
His hazel brown eyes, entranced by the letter held so dear.
Its now captured him, as a poem hes revealed,
and his face remarks a wound unhealed.
Brother, have i done wrong?
Am i supposed to feel strong?
Your pendulum stopped by my own hands.
Brother have i done wrong?
Am i supposed to feel strong?
For now im alone, to wonder these lands.
Brother, have i done wrong?
The brightness of the grand now lyes on the mans eyes.
Clouded, blurry, teard up sky, a floating feeling of lost goodbyes.
Now tendered from emotion, there he stood.
To live in the day his brother died.
Categories:
ill bred, brother, loss,
Form:
Free verse
pilgrim turkeys sensing dread
scurry into an old shed
farmer hear our plea
nest we in a tree
and dear friend we are ill bred.
Categories:
ill bred, bird, farm, funny, humor,
Form:
Limerick
bright blue skies,
adorned by the type of clouds that call you to lay under their canopy and nap.
and here i am.
a young girl again.
kneeling in the front yard, legs stained green by the dewkissed clovers.
picking apples from where they lay bruised on the ground,
unable to recover from their discovery of gravity.
the air is perfumed by fermented fruit,
apple wine that gets the insects drunk.
in my peasant skirt and barefeet, i have to smile.
INNOCENCE, INNOCENCE, INNOCENCE! my heart screams.
and my lips smile.
my eyes see more than good here. the insects that creep and hop.
a tiny frog searching for shade or food.
a fat bumblebee working for sweetness.
im large.
ill-bred.
human.
crushing their homes.
i destroy everything.
my body,
my skin,
my heart,
my innocence.
seventeen and already i have destroyed things that i can never repair.
skin itching, becoming inflamed from the dry brittle grass that has been refused
shelter from the sun.
i continue to destroy,
i am a monster.
i am ugly.
i am human.
and theres nothing i can do,
but continue to destroy.
Categories:
ill bred, angst, childhood, life, sad,
Form:
Free verse