Best Ill Chosen Poems
They say if you don’t use a thing for a year
It’s time to get rid of it, just to be clear
Feel free to sell it or give it away
But to get clutter free, just don’t let it stay
So, I checked my garage for stuff I could lose--
and found hundreds of words I simply don’t use!
Lilliputian and Sprightly stood on a shelf
Elbow-to-elbow with some wry little elf
Bucolic and Bumpkin were squirreled away
Beneath a big bale of bright yellow hay
Garish and Gaudy were in a glittery box
with Trinkets and Baubles set with fake rocks
Surreptitious and Unobtrusive tried to avoid being seen
But I caught 'em sneaking off with Clandestine
Beyond these loose words, which filled many a bin
Lay whole turns of phrase like Much to My Chagrin
I held up to the light a Gossamer Veil
Then dumped it in a Perfidious Betrayal
An Ethereal Cloud, glued to the ceiling
I scraped off with an Ambivalent Feeling
I rolled back the rug to see what I'd missed,
There before me stretched a Yawning Abyss
Into a huge crate, these big words I did toss
Bobbing on top were Flotsam, Jetsam and Dross
Fatigued by these labors, I took a short break
But that little respite may have been my mistake
Soon I was deep in most Pensive Reflection
On how Assiduously I had built this collection
In crept Myriad Doubts about so brash a move
What if I meet some Cad I need to Reprove?
What if some Craven Cur should Incur my Wrath
But words fail me due to this Ill-Chosen Path?
Well, soon that old crate was quite empty once more
And cluttered again were bin, shelf, drawer and floor
But one thing has changed, this is Palpably Clear
My Leviathan Word Horde I now Deeply Revere
Intrepid and Dauntless, I sling without fear
Iota and Mote.. I dust off once a year!
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 2, 2016
Categories:
ill chosen, education, fun, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
I’ve an anger which cannot be hidden!
A burning passion that comes unbidden!
My Soul desolated with grievous rage,
reacts with furious justified outrage!
Occasioned by the offences of ignorance,
bigotry, discrimination and intolerance!
Though evil are the ravages of vandalism,
they pale to the magnitude of racialism!
Colour, creed, even the shape of the eye
is little enough to make bigots cry:
“He’s not of us! He’s a different breed!”
“Watch him close or he’ll do us an ill deed!”
There is no cause for remarks such as these,
but pestilent views are like a disease!
Some ill chosen words expressed in vague
terms, insinuate like a fatal plague!
Ethnic slurs in the guise of humour, fester!
With but one angry response one protester,
can incite more slander, which raging out of hand,
foments a backlash! Runs rampant! Inflames the land!
But racism is a sword with a two edged blade!
It cleaves not only those on whom it’s laid
but those who scorn to curb their vicious tongue
from whom such defamatory words have sprung!
Can we not accept those who are not as us?
Must we blame the innocent for the fuss
instigated by such biased perception?
Let us quash ignorance at its inception,
or by default we shall be guilty too!
By using diverse conceits we construe
to make imprudent acts lawful decrees!
While disregarding all impassioned pleas
for tolerance! Unless we denounce this blight,
or take a stand and with fortitude, to fight
and end disharmony, discord and dislike!
Racialism and hatred will flourish alike!
Rhymer April 1st, 2017.
Categories:
ill chosen, anger,
Form:
Rhyme
Words can have so many meanings
It pays to carefully choose what you say,
Lack of phrasing can reveal your leanings
Ill-chosen words will often make you pay.
Politicians quickly learn how to double-talk
Meaning exactly what they did not say,
Like a sidewalk drawing with colored chalk
Knowing a weepy denial will wash it away.
Written October 16, 2022
Categories:
ill chosen, meaningful, spoken word, words,
Form:
Rhyme
The politically correct nonsense of today is so very absurd!
The language of my native land has become so terribly blurred,
By those who devote themselves to concocting such inane idiom.
Such prattle is as puzzling to me as is the element of iridium!
Now, it's chic to refer to postmen and befuddled college freshmen,
As postpersons and freshpersons whether they be woman or man!
Even folks with sticky fingers are given a title deemed more proper:
A shoplifter is delicately called a "non-traditional shopper!"
The wino in the gutter and the falling-down drunken driver,
Are each tenderly referred to as a "substance abuse survivor!"
Even the Father of Creation is no longer referred to as "He".
Monikers like "Daddy", "She" and "A Being" were created by the laity!
The so-called social engineers want to sink without a trace,
Cheery "Merry Christmas" with ill-chosen greetings in its place!
After all, 'tis Christ's glorious birth that we commemorate,'
Not the winter soltice or some pagan rite to perpetuate!
Seems 'tis normal nowadays to blame everyone but one's self,
For problems and predicaments in which one finds himself.
I could go on ad infinitum on this topic but space won't allow,
But I reckon the reader will have perceived how I feel by now!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
ill chosen, political
Form:
Rhyme
There were shades of tranquility
aching 'neath civilization's cry,
still blood was shed amid glorified
borders of battlefield's convoluted calling,
each magnified footprint pooled crimson
filled ideologue's of disenchantment
amidst revolutions of ill-chosen power,
marching to drumbeats of fool's gilded dogma
Categories:
ill chosen, angst, death, grief, history,
Form:
Free verse
These eyes obedient, have led the way
Onto countless ill-chosen paths.
These eyes as apart from body like partner,
Witness free will in mountainous struggles
Equal in preventability.
These eyes loyal in quiet conformity,
Avert as spirit evades discovery or risk.
These eyes express through all escaped emotion,
Oceans in tears of perpetuating sadness
In love of Duty. And cherished occasional
Sublime delight.
These eyes lie, with precision in self-preservation
and clumsily in deceit.
These eyes with earned wisdom through
Lessons learned, now look upon themselves
Graciously in replica of shape.
In color they differ as polished jade, opaque and
Inpenetrable to light, to Pacific tide pools, inviting
To peer into and ever changing in light and depth.
These eyes in replica are innocence and
Wonder. And dance with an all exposing grin,
Curling lips to show perfect pink gums
Over three year old teeth that I am compelled to kiss.
It is in this, these eyes see the meaning of everything.
pools
Categories:
ill chosen, introspection, mother, son,
Form:
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XIV
IF you pull a long stiff face
Week after week while you parley
You risk stoking the furnace
Ill-chosen words all ending in nay
If you keep pulling the long red face
The Picador will puncture your vertebrae
Blood-splashed mane from banderillas
Beware you'll be the only felled prey
If you keep pulling that long mane face
The blood-thirsty chorus crowd cry Olé
Eyes mist over ears dim to the populace
Beware Beware the Torrero about to slay
If you insist on pulling the long bull-face
Horns flayed by muleta-faena coup d'épée
The Torrero bucked up with rude applause
Take heed the estocade's only an inch away
Now if you must pull that long lost face
Neither party willing to give some leeway
No Wall can stop the People ALL debase
Hell to pay in havoc-wreaked 2020's back pay
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 10, 2019
Categories:
ill chosen, america, analogy, conflict, leadership,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
The power keeps flickering.
Don’t mean to be bickering;
Just glad that it keeps coming back.
True, the clocks keep resetting,
But what’s far more upsetting:
When a pump room becomes an ice pack.
The timing’s ill-chosen,
For the pipes to be frozen;
When it blinks, there’s an ominous hush.
If this trend’s not reversing,
There soon will be cursing;
Without water, the toilets won’t flush!
Categories:
ill chosen, angst, power, weather,
Form:
Light Verse
Twas the night before Christmas before I got home,
it took a train, bus, and taxi in falling snow;
and how that bus on the road did sway and roam,
while the wild snow and wind did howl, roar and blow.
It began in northern Ontario on a train,
and it was wonderful gliding through forests frozen;
then, onto a bus that wandered from lane to lane,
my wish to get home for Christmas seemed ill-chosen.
Then, somehow we arrived to my city in an icy snowstorm,
slipping and sliding- I ventured outside snow blind;
and got a taxi with a driver that was barely a life form,
but, when I saw home such lovely thoughts twined.
The driveway was a hill- now all ice and snow covered,
I started up and would just slip back down again and again;
so, crawling on my knees was the best way I discovered,
finally, I made it to the porch and front door- amen.
I entered like I had walked all the way from the north,
so, cold I shivered for an hour in front of the fire place;
but, I made it and how happy was my mom's face,
we kissed again, again and again- back and forth.
________________________
December 04, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Coming Home For Christmas
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1506-612-04
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, The Night Before 3
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 12/23/2022
First Place
Categories:
ill chosen, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
Mentally ill chosen by a few cowards they struck;
Against fundamentals of mankind and society.
Jehad against Allah's doctrine in self destruct role;
Seek a place in heaven with innocent blood on hand?
Living in hell these cowards await final judgment,
For Allah's wrath is infinite, punishment divine:-
"Soundless and endless."
Categories:
ill chosen, life
Form:
Free verse
Love,
The emotion
From eternity to eternity
Touches humans
Giving serenity,
The ones in love
Forever fortuitous
To be singing
Life's glorious song,
A dance of
Tango
Between two
Sublime souls
Lost in the throes
Of immortal love;
Those upon whom
Cupid
Is unkind
And failed to strike
With his magical
Arrow
Must remain
Sentenced
To a life of
Degenerate
Solitude,
A life of
Unfulfilled dreams,
And missed bliss;
Deep in the ocean
Of emotion,
Lies their sunken ship
Of love
Perched precariously
On a submerged
Precipice under
The weight of
Ill chosen priorities,
Broken, rusted,
Unknowingly,
Instinctively awaiting
Some arrowed,
Amorous diver
Or a miracle
From Eros
To rekindle
The fire
Of passion
Within.
Categories:
ill chosen, emotions, extended metaphor, imagery,
Form:
Free verse